TOST  CARDS 


STATIONERY 


~^~   3  ft  ". 


£,  CALIF. 


OE  CALIE*  IIBRABY,-  IDS 


THE 
INTERFERENCE    OF    PATRICIA 


The  Works  of 

LILIAN    BELL 
* 

Hope  Loring  *  .  *  $1*50 
Abroad  with  the  Jimmies  1,50 
The  Interference  of  Patricia  1. 00 


The  Lilian  Bell  Birthday  Book    J.50 

* 

L.  C  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
New  England  Building,  Boston,  Mass. 


' 


PATRICIA    MARSTON 


Interference  of  Patricia 


Lilian/Bell 


Author  of 

"  Hope  Loring,"  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies," 
"  Love  Affairs  of  an  Old  Maid,"  etc. 


With  a  Frontispiece  by 

Frank  T.  Merrill 


BOSTON 

L  C  PAGE    fie  COMPAN 


Copyright,  1903 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


Published  July,  1903 


Electrotypad  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


MY  GREATEST  ADMIRATION  AMONG  MKN 

A    FRIEND,    A    COUNSELLOR,    A    CONFIDANT 

WHOSE   GENTLE   SOUL   KNOWS   NAUGHT    BUT  GOOD 

BELIEVES   ONLY  THE   BEST 

AIMS    AT    NOTHING    BELOW    THE    HIGHEST 

AND  WHOSE  RIGHT  AND  LEFT  HANDS 

ARE    STRANGERS    ONE   TO 

THE    OTHER 


2128751 


CONTENTS 


I.    THE  MARSTON  METHOD    .        .        .11 
II.     IN   WHICH    MARSTON    APPLIES    His 

METHOD  ......      21 

III.  CORNELIA  WINTHROP         ...      30 

IV.  ABERNETHY  AND  MARSTON       .        .      49 
V.     PATRICIA  MARSTON   ....      63 

VI.     How  PATRICIA  PREPARED  FOR  HER 

PART 77 

VII.    THE  FORTUNE-TELLER'S  BOOTH      .      87 

VIII.     AT  THE  DENVER  CLUB      .        .        .no 

IX.     PATRICIA  AND  LORD  ABERNETHY     .     121 

X.    THE  Two  MARSTONS         .        .        .     139 


The 

Interference  of  Patricia 

CHAPTER  I 

THE     MARSTON     METHOD 

GW.  was  the  Boss  Croker  of  Den- 
ver, and  president  of  the  largest 
•   bank  in  the  town. 

G.  W.  was  not  his  whole  name,  but  it 
was  what  everybody  who  had  borrowed 
money  of  him  called  him,  and  as  about  the 
only  people  in  Denver  who  had  not  been 
obliged  to  borrow  money  since  the  panic  of 
'93,  when  the  bottom  dropped  out  of  the 
town,  were  the  dead  and  the  unborn,  you  will 
see  that  practically  the  entire  population  of 
Denver  called  Mr.  Marston  "  G.  W." 

Those  whose  mortgages  G.  W.  had  fore- 
closed   were    inclined    to    say    disagreeable 
things  about  him  and  the  way  he  had  ac- 
ii 


12     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

quired  his  wealth,  and  to  call  his  success 
luck.  But  in  that  they  were  mistaken, 
blinded,  led  away,  perhaps,  by  the  bitterness 
of  their  penniless  condition.  Possibly  they 
were  inclined  to  brood  morbidly  as  they  saw 
G.  W.  gather  in  and  sell  their  real  estate 
and  homes  and  horses  which  he  had  honestly 
acquired  when,  in  their  panic,  they  had  ap- 
pealed to  him,  and  he,  out  of  friendship, 
had  accommodated  them.  He  always  re- 
minded them  of  this,  when  they  became 
rude  and  said  things  to  his  face.  He  had 
helped  them,  he  declared,  because  in  their 
prosperous  days  they  had  been  friends  of 
his.  "  I  don't  forget,"  he  often  said,  "  the 
fine  old  trips  East  we  used  to  take  in  your 
private  car  and  the  way  the  champagne 
flowed."  So  for  that  reason  he  lent  them 
money  at  eight  per  cent,  and  reluctantly 
foreclosed  on  them  a  few  years  later,  deeply 
regretting  the  necessity,  and  offering  to  let 
them  have  the  property  back  at  any  time. 

So  with  this  handsome  offer  before  them, 
of  course  it  was  sheer  foolishness  of  them 
to  complain  —  besides  being  ungrateful. 
But  G.  W.  was  used  to  ingratitude  of  this 
sort.  What  philanthropist  is  not? 


The  Marston  Method          13 

G.  W.'s  success  was  not  due  to  luck,  but 
to  a  shrewdness  and  foresight  which  had 
properly  earned  him  the  position  he  held. 
He  never  foreclosed  on  city  officials,  news- 
paper men,  or  clever  lawyers.  He  lowered 
the  interest  on  the  city  fathers,  not  low 
enough  to  allow  them  to  get  ahead  and 
pay  up,  but  low  enough  to  encourage  them 
to  keep  on  with  the  interest.  He  took  stock 
as  security  from  his  newspaper  acquaint- 
ances, and  led  them  to  believe  that  they 
could  redeem  it  at  any  time. 

He  only  foreclosed  on  old  friends  who 
were  not  in  active  business  or  politics,  but 
did  this  with  a  reluctance  which  vastly 
became  him.  In  return  for  foreclosing,  he 
gave  them  sound  advice,  in  case  they  cared 
to  make  a  fresh  start.  But  the  ungrateful 
old  creatures  merely  made  a  few  pungent 
remarks,  and  then  sometimes  they  died. 
Not  from  a  broken  heart,  you  understand, 
for  people  never  die  of  that,  not  even  proud 
men,  ruined  and  chagrined  in  their  old  age, 
nor  beautiful  young  girls  nor  neglected 
wives.  They  just  die,  that's  all,  and  the 
doctor  sends  in  his  certificate  and  then  his 
bill. 


14     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

Once  G.  W.'s  health  broke  down  and 
they  said  he  suffered  from  insomnia,  but 
Sylvestre,  the  young  Eastern  contractor, 
suggested  that  it  might  be  his  conscience 
working,  and  this  was  considered  the  best 
joke  got  off  in  the  Denver  Club  for  many 
a  day. 

But  G.  W.  had  such  a  tender  heart  that 
he  seldom  did  business  of  this  sort  person- 
ally. He  generally  let  Crossfuylen,  the 
cashier  of  the  bank,  attend  to  it.  Cross- 
fuylen had  no  heart,  people  said  (which 
was  a  calumny),  and  really  seemed  to  take 
delight  in  humbling  the  proud,  but  in 
reality  it  was  only  Crossfuylen's  business 
enthusiasm,  and  he  really  did  not  under- 
stand pride.  His  wife  once  complained  that 
his  disagreeable  duties  of  this  sort  injured 
her  in  society,  but  Crossfuylen  had  a  quiet 
hour  alone  with  her,  in  which  he  pointed 
out  the  consequences  of  going  contrary  to 
G.  W.'s  wishes,  as  thoroughly  understood 
by  his  henchman,  and  then  he  further  paci- 
fied her  by  buying  one  of  the  foreclosed 
houses  in  the  most  aristocratic  part  of  the 
town,  where  she  could  fight  it  out. 

j   another  banker,   whose  Hebraic 


The  Marston   Method          15 

origin  was  more  evident  from  his  manner 
than  his  name,  was  closely  associated  with 
G.  W.  in  many  of  his  vaster  schemes,  but 
he  concealed  himself  behind  G.  W.,  even 
as  G.  W.  made  use  of  the  coat  skirts  of 
Crossfuylen. 

Ostensibly  they  were  all  now  interested 
in  a  scheme  to  sell  the  Denver  trolley  sys- 
tem, the  real  reason  for  which  was  fully 
known  only  to  G.  W.  The  other  two  prin- 
cipal owners  were  partially  aware  of  the 
necessity,  but  of  the  complete  plan  they 
were  as  positive  they  were  in  ignorance 
as  they  were  that  they  knew  G.  W.  of  old. 
They  watched  him  warily. 

G.  W.  had  just  returned  from  a  mys- 
terious trip  to  New  York,  when  the  door 
of  his  private  office  was  flung  open  so  un- 
ceremoniously that  a  more  nervous  man 
would  have  jumped,  but  G.  W.  was  used 
to  Patricia's  stormy  ways  and  did  not  even 
look  up. 

Patricia  was  his  daughter. 

"  You're  a  nice  one,  you  are !  "  observed 
the  girl,  standing  in  front  of  him  and  tap- 
ping the  leather  of  her  riding-boots  with 
her  whip.  The  handle  was  of  gold,  set 


1 6     The   Interference  of  Patricia 

with  diamonds.  She  treated  it  as  if  it  were 
tin.  It  was  lost  half  of  the  time. 

G.  W.  waved  his  hand  for  her  to  be  quiet, 
and  went  on  figuring.  But  Patricia  was  not 
afraid  of  G.  W.  Far  from  it.  She  reached 
out  and  flirted  her  whip  up  and  down  on 
the  page  on  which  he  was  writing  with  an 
impertinence  which  deserved  a  touch  of  her 
jewelled  toy. 

"Let  up  on  that  stuff  and  listen  to  me, 
will  you,  dad  ?  I  haven't  much  time  to  spare. 
I'm  going  to  ride  with  Cornelia  Winthrop 
and  Bob  Sylvestre  in  an  hour." 

"  *  Cornelia  Winthrop  and  Bob  Syl- 
vestre,' "  repeated  her  father,  removing  his 
gold-rimmed  glasses  and  plunging  into  the 
conversation  as  if  he  had  left  it  off  only 
an  hour  ago,  whereas  he  had  not  seen  his 
daughter  for  three  weeks.  "  Who  are 
they?" 

"Well,  I  don't  call  them  Cornelia  and 
Bob  to  their  faces,  you  can  just  bet  your 
life.  They  are  Eastern.  She  is  Mrs.  Win- 
throp, a  widow,  and  Mr.  Sylvestre  is  a 
contractor  who  has  come  to  bid  on  build- 
ing the  new  road." 

"  Oh,  new  friends  of  yours !  " 


y         The  Marston  Method          17 

"Not  yet,  they  aren't,  but  I  want  them 
to  be.  It  was  the  merest  accident  their 
asking  me  to  go  with  them  to-day.  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it  some  day.  But  I  want  you 
to  do  something  for  me.  I  want  to  break 
into  society.  I  want  to  know  these  swells 
who  are  for  ever  coming  to  Denver  to  get 
rich  —  God  help  'em !  I  want  to  be  in  it ! 
The  Bunces  are.  Why  aren't  you  ?  " 

"What's  that?  What  is  Bunce  in  that 
I'm  not?  If  that  damned  Jew  —  " 

"  Oh,  he  hasn't  done  anything  since  you 
went  away.  You  are  not  listening  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  You  said  you  wanted  to 
but  your  head  into  a  stone  wall." 

Patricia  laughed. 

"  Well,  you  must  turn  the  stone  wall  into 
a  soft  pillow  so  I  won't  break  my  nose." 

G.  W.  got  out  his  cheque-book. 

"  How  much  do  you  want?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
how  to  get  in." 

"  How  to  get  into  society  ?  "  repeated 
G.  W.,  in  a  bewildered  tone.  "  How  do 
I  know  ?  How  do  other  people  do  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  are  willing  to  wait  years  and 
do  it  gradually.  Give  little  tea-parties  and 


1 8     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

get  to  know  the  right  people  in  that  way. 
But  I  want  to  do  it  in  a  big  way.  I  want 
to  knock  people  silly.  I  want  to  flabbergast 
the  whole  bunch." 

G.  W.  looked  at  her  proudly.  His  method 
exactly!  The  Marston  method!  But  he 
thought  a  minute  without  speaking.  He 
was  wholly  at  sea  with  a  proposition  of 
that  nature.  He  looked  at  his  daughter 
shrewdly. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  this  for, 
Patrichy?" 

His  keen  eyes  disconcerted  her.  She 
looked  away  and  he  saw  the  colour  flame 
into  her  face,  a  bewitching  face,  where  tiny 
invisible  muscles  under  her  clear  skin  were 
always  twitching  into  suggestions  of  dim- 
ples which  never  became  tangible  facts. 

"Oh,  just  because!"  she  said,  vaguely. 

"  I'll  bet  she  is  in  love  with  that  fellow 
Sylvestre  and  wants  to  get  him  away  from 
the  widow !  "  thought  her  father.  "  She'll 
do  it,  too!  Trust  her!"  He  laughed  in- 
wardly. 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  Mrs.  Winthrop?  " 
he  demanded  suddenly,  with  deep  diplomacy. 


The  Marston  Method          19 

To  his  surprise  her  face  gladdened  with 
relief. 

"I  just  will!"  she  exclaimed.  "Will 
you  foot  the  bills?  They'll  be  hummers, 
I  warn  you !  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  pay  the  piper.  A  man  can't 
turn  such  a  cracker- jack  loose  in  his  bank- 
account  without  expecting  to  fork  over  the 
whole  concern.  Give  me  a  kiss  now,  and 
get  out ! " 

She  made  a  graceful  swoop  at  him  as  if 
a  swallow  had  dipped  in  her  flight  and  fled, 
slamming  the  door  violently  behind  her. 

G.  W.  rubbed  his  head. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  visited  by  a  cyclone 
and  unroofed,"  he  said. 

He  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair  and 
tipped  back  in  his  chair.  He  scrutinized 
his  note-book  carefully,  making  notes  in 
cipher.  Then  he  whistled  softly. 

"  This  is  the  biggest  thing  yet !  "  he  said 
to  himself.  "  Wheels  within  wheels,  and 
old  G.  W.  the  mainspring.  Everybody  go- 
ing to  get  rich  out  of  it.  Bunce  thinks  he 
can  retire!  Can  he,  or  will  he  have  to  hire 
out  as  my  office  boy?  Crossfuylen  thinks 
he  is  on  to  the  whole  game!  Is  he?  And 


2O     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

old  Jed!  Jed  Brown!  Lord!  It  is  to 
laugh!  He  kicked  like  a  Texas  steer  when 
I  notified  him  that  I  would  take  up  my 
option  on  his  trolley  stock  at  $125.  One 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars !  He  bought 
it  at  70.  He  ought  to  thank  me.  But  not 
old  Jed.  He  is  the  nearest  on  to  me  of  any- 
body. Well,  just  you  watch  Papa  twist  the 
whole  bunch !  Specially  Abernethy !  "  he 
added  as  an  afterthought. 

He  despised  the  Englishman  because  he 
wore  a  bracelet-watch. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN    WHICH    MARSTON    APPLIES    HIS    METHOD 

NOT  a   few  would  have  been  glad 
for  a  quiet  hour  alone  with  that 
little  fat  red  note-book  of  G.  W.'s 
if  they  had  known  the  key  to  his  cipher. 
But  G.  W.  kept  his  own  counsel.     But  to 
explain  the  matter  as  it  now  stood  in  as 
simple  a  manner  as  possible,   although  in 
G.  W.'s  hands  it  was  anything  but  a  simple 
proposition,   his  plans   were  these. 

They  were  very  complex,  but  Marston 
prided  himself  on  this  very  complexity.  He 
delighted  to  employ  a  rascal  and  then  to 
beat  him  at  his  very  rascality.  He  loved 
the  course  tortuous,  the  maze,  the  labyrinth. 
No  one  really  ever  knew  what  he  was  up 
to,  but  everybody  suspected  him.  He  was 
an  excellent  poker  player,  and  his  business 
was  conducted  on  the  same  method.  He 

21 


22     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

bluffed  with  an  air  that  was  childlike  and 
bland. 

Now  no  one  admired  this  turn  of  his  mind 
more  than  Jimmie  Cheroot,  the  paid  hench- 
man of  Jed  Brown.  Jed  and  G.  W.  were 
business  associates  in  everything,  but  never 
a  day  passed  that  Jed  did  not  try  to  "  do  " 
G.  W.  or  that  G.  W.  did  not  endeavour  to 
wreck  Jed.  They  watched  each  other  like 
two  bulldogs. 

Jed  was  a  strange  combination  of  busi- 
ness tyrant  and  domestic  coward.  His  early 
married  life  was  a  mystery  about  which 
people  continually  whispered.  His  wife 
beggars  description.  She  was  unspeakable. 
Their  one  daughter  was  a  timid,  deprecating 
girl,  afraid  of  her  mother's  language  and 
temper  and  ashamed  of  her  father. 

The  Browns  were  not  in  society  any 
more  than  the  Marstons  were.  Even  Denver 
draws  the  line  somewhere.  But  Jimmie 
Cheroot,  by  virtue  of  a  nice  wife,  was.  He 
"always  made  it  a  point  to  know  the 
swells"  —  from  which  statement  the  en- 
lightened can  determine  his  standing  in 
society  and  just  how  far  he  was  entitled 
to  go. 


f  Marston  Applies  His  Method     23 

Jimmie  was  a  slim,  dapper  little  blond, 
who  was  always  looking  for  the  crumbs 
which  fell  from  a  rich  man's  table.  He  was 
both  clever  and  cautious.  Although  in  the 
confidence  and  pay  of  Jed  Brown,  many  were 
the  little  quiet  turns  he  made  for  G.  W., 
whose  methods  he  madly  admired.  He  em- 
ulated them  also  to  the  extent  that,  if  the 
time  ever  came,  when  he  could  make  a  for- 
tune by  selling  out  both  Jed  and  G.  W.,  for 
a  sure  thing  from  a  third  party,  Jimmie 
Cheroot,  slim,  dapper  and  blond,  could  be 
counted  upon  to  do  it. 

Jimmie  had  of  late  been  assiduous  in 
furnishing  information  to  G.  W.  unavail- 
able from  any  other  source.  For  instance 
it  was  Jimmie's  habit  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  people  who  owed  G.  W.  money, 
by  virtue  of  his  wife's  calling  acquaintance, 
and  over  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  cigar  to 
offer  to  appraise  the  mortgaged  property,  — 
quite  as  a  matter  of  friendship,  —  and  if 
he  discovered  a  weakness  even  on  the  way, 
he  made  a  note  of  it  for  G.  W.  But  to  his 
friends,  over  another  glass  df  wine  and 
several  more  cigars,  he  suggested  a  shifting 
of  securities  to  obtain  more  time,  which 


24     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

often,  since  he  was  doing  all  this  as  a  matter 
of  friendship,  earned  him  valuable  presents 
from  the  grateful  and  unsuspicious  creatures. 
They  never  connected  the  almost  immediate 
foreclosure  of  G.  W.'s  mortgages  on  their 
property  with  Jimmie's  intimate  knowledge 
of  their  affairs.  In  fact  he  often  dined  with 
them  afterward. 

Knowing  these  things,  and  feeling  sure 
that  his  reward  was  bound  to  come,  it  was 
not  a  surprise  when  one  day  G.  W.  sent 
for  Jimmie  and  showed  his  hand.  That  is, 
Jimmie  thought  he  showed  his  hand.  G. 
W.'s  frank  and  genial  air  had  deceived 
cleverer  men  than  Jimmie  Cheroot. 

"  You  know/'  said  G.  W.,  "  that  Bunce 
and  Jed  and  I  practically  own  the  trolley 
and  that  we  want  to  sell  it.  I  am  going  into 
politics  and  I  want  cash.  The  other  two 
don't  want  to  stay  in  it  without  me,  so  we 
have  conceived  this  plan.  Seen  the  papers 
lately?  Then  you  must  have  noticed  that 
in  every  one  of  them  are  big  advertisements 
for  *  applications  for  stock  of  a  new  trans- 
continental railroad.'  Applications,  you  un- 
derstand. Now,  Bunce  got  his  brother,  the 
New  York  one,  —  I  don't  believe  the  Omaha 


^Marston  Applies  His  Method     25 

one  would  have  done  it,  —  to  father  the 
scheme.  It  won't  surprise  a  little  devil  like 
you  to  know  that  that  railroad  will  never 
be  built.  But  it  will  sell  the  trolley. 

"  Now,  I  happen  to  know  that  Lord 
Abernethy  has  millions  to  invest.  I  want 
him  to  buy  this  trolley  —  for  a  quick  turn, 
you  understand,  to  sell  it  to  the  railroad. 
Tell  him  the  road  has  got  to  have  it,  for 
it  has  no  right  of  way  through  Denver  and 
that  the  franchise  can  be  arranged.  Go  to 
him  on  your  own  hook,  in  a  confidential 
way.  He  will  probably  at  once  ask  you 
why  we  don't  hold  on  and  sell  it  ourselves. 
To  this  you  must  answer  that  I  am  going 
into  politics,  and,  as  I  must  not  be  identified 
with  any  corporations  existing  upon  a  public 
franchise,  I  would  probably  sell  for  cash 
now  at  a  moderate  figure,  rather  than  wait 
a  couple  of  years  and  then  take  stock  in 
the  railroad  company  for  it.  That's  your 
strong  point,  see?  The  stock  is  now  worth 
$105.  I  have  an  option  on  Jed's  and  Bunce's 
at  $125,  and  you  must  tell  him  that  you 
think  you  could  get  an  option  from  me  on 
more  than  a  controlling  interest  —  say,  prac- 
tically the  whole  thing  at  $150.  I  think 


26     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

he'll  jump  at  it.  If  you  can  do  this,  there 
will  be  a  big  bunch  of  cash  in  it  for  you." 

Jimmie's  eyes  glistened.  He  said  nothing 
for  a  moment,  and  G.  W.  watched  him 
warily.  No  one  knew  better  than  Marston 
himself  what  big  chances  he  was  taking  — 
chances  which  would  have  staggered  a  more 
timid  man,  but  G.  W.  was  an  inordinate 
poker  player,  and  while  sometimes  playing 
so  careful  a  game  as  to  savour  more  of 
whist  than  poker,  again  his  recklessness  was 
enough  to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end. 
He  used  the  same  tactics  in  business.  As 
Jed  Brown  expressed  it,  "  With  G.  W.,  you 
never  can  tell  which  way  the  cat's  going  to 
jump." 

But  it  gave  his  enemies  something  to 
think  about. 

Just  now  G.  W.  was  confronted  by  tre- 
mendous odds.  He  wondered  how  much 
Jimmie  knew.  He  would  have  paid  a  neat 
little  sum  to  know  if  Jimmie  suspected  that 
his  hold  over  the  city  council  was  weaken- 
ing and  that  his  real  reason  for  selling  was 
that  they  were  going  to  make  an  election 
issue  of  the  removal  of  the  cable  conduit, 
which  hitherto  G.  W.  had  been  able  to  pre- 


*  Marston  Applies  His  Method     27 

vent.  The  expense  of  this  would  practi- 
cally put  the  road  back  into  bankruptcy  and 
seriously  handicap  its  three  chief  owners, 
Marston,  Bunce,  and  Brown. 

G.  W.  had,  by  great  diplomacy,  persuaded 
the  more  influential  newspapers  to  give  him 
a  little  more  time,  promising  all  sorts  of 
return  favours  if  they  would.  To  accom- 
modate their  largest  and  most  powerful 
stockholder,  they  were  amenable  to  a  cer- 
tain extent.  But  the  time  was  short  — 
alarmingly  short.  And  so  Marston  and 
Bunce  had  contrived  a  scheme  of  which 
they  thought  best  to  say  nothing  to  Jed 
Brown. 

Jed  felt  the  sting  of  this  more  than  the 
loss  of  his  second  profit.  He  knew  some 
game  was  up  of  which  he  was  to  know 
nothing  when  G.  W.  took  his  trolley  stock 
at  $125. 

He  too  was  now  an  enemy  to  G.  W.'s 
scheme,  but  the  safety  of  it  lay  in  the  swift- 
ness with  which  G.  W.  hoped  to  act  and 
the  amount  of  secrecy  with  which  he  could 
invest  his  moves. 

How  much  did  Jimmie  know  and  how 
far  could  he  be  bought? 


28     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

Marston  paid  high  for  his  men,  and  firmly 
agreed  with  the  wit  who  declared  that  "  an 
honest  man  was  one  who  would  stay 
bought." 

"  Do  you  know  Lord  Abernethy  ?  "  asked 
Jimmie. 

"  No,  never  saw  him  but  once,  and  then 
I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  giving 
him  a  swift  kick  for  wearing  a  bracelet- 
watch.  The  ass ! " 

Jimmie  laughed  good-humouredly.  He 
felt  infinitely  above  G.  W.  in  that  he  did 
not  resent  such  signs  of  an  effete  civilization. 
He  felt  that  G.  W.  was  very  Western  and 
doubted  if  he  would  feel  at  all  at  home  in 
the  Waldorf-Astoria.  Jimmie  always  used 
the  hyphen  when  speaking  of  that  hotel. 

"  You  know  him,  don't  you  ? "  said 
G.  W. 

Jimmie  shot  out  his  cuffs. 

"  Oh,  yes,  7  know  him,"  he  said. 

"  Then  don't  lose  an  hour.  See  him  this 
afternoon,  if  possible,  and  don't  forget. 
Politics!" 

Jimmie  took  his  hat  and  went  out.  He 
paused  a  moment  on  the  steps  to  light  a 
cigar. 


Marston  Applies  His  Method     29 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if 
G.  W.  is  an  ass  or  if  he  only  takes  me  for 
one!  He  would  have  done  a  little  better 
for  himself  if  he  had  told  me  more.  Going 
into  politics !  G.  W. !  " 

And  Jimmie  Cheroot's  tongue  went  into 
his  cheek. 


CHAPTER  III 

CORNELIA     WINTHROP 

DENVER  lay  blinking  in  the  brilliant 
white  sunshine  which  makes  the 
town  such  a  glory  to  some  and 
such  a  horror  to  others.  Only  Athens,  of 
all  the  other  cities  in  the  world,  can  boast 
such  a  limpid  atmosphere  and  such  a  blind- 
ing glare.  But  Denver  lies  so  high  that 
the  heat  never  seems  oppressive.  The  sun 
does  not  descend  with  a  damp,  languorous 
heat.  It  beats  down  dry,  hot,  baking.  It 
cooks  the  already  cooked  earth  into  still 
greater  hardness.  It  powders  the  alkali  dust 
into  still  finer  particles.  It  parches  even 
the  edges  of  the  irrigating  ditches  into  a 
substance  as  hard  as  stone.  Not  a  shadow 
nor  a  cloud  breaks  its  pitiless  glare.  Tired 
eyes  blink  in  vain  for  a  rest  from  its  blind- 
ing clearness.  Gray  days  are  a  luxury 
almost  unknown. 


Cornelia  Winthrop  31 

The  air,  clear,  cool,  transparent,  is  charged 
with  an  ozone  and  electricity  which  invig- 
orate the  lungs  but  shatter  the  nerves  and 
exhaust  the  heart.  Jaded  men  who  go  to 
Denver  for  the  first  time  feel  ten  years 
younger.  They  declare  that  they  could 
walk  twenty  miles.  Their  blood  dances; 
their  feet  prance.  They  square  off  and  spar 
at  their  own  images  in  the  mirror  and  feel 
inclined  to  slap  every  man  on  the  back  in 
sheer  rejuvenation  and  exhilaration. 

Nervous  women,  after  a  few  months  of 
Denver,  sit  with  every  muscle  unconsciously 
drawn  tense,  and  grow  hysterical  on  the 
slightest  provocation. 

High-strung  race-horses  pound  their  deli- 
cate feet  to  pieces  on  the  hard  white  roads 
and  run  themselves  to  death  if  not  restrained. 
Family  horses  brought  from  a  lower  altitude 
astonish  people  by  running  away  and  kick- 
ing the  dashboard  of  the  family  carriage 
into  unregenerate  splinters.  Mules,  accus- 
tomed elsewhere  to  blows  and  curses,  go 
with  only  a  polite  urging  in  Denver,  where- 
fore it  is  said  that  the  climate  is  hard  on 
women  and  fine  horses  and  good  for  men 
and  mules. 


32     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

This  strangely  exhilarating  effect  of  alti- 
tude is  made  responsible  for  all  the  excesses 
committed  in  cities  which  lie  as  high  as 
Denver.  A  consumptive  husband  goes  to 
Denver  and  is  cured,  but  his  wife  dies  of 
heart  disease.  It  is  the  altitude.  Men  who 
gambled  and  drank  moderately  in  the  East 
go  to  Denver  and  do  both  to  excess.  Ex- 
citement must  be  worked  off  in  some 
manner,  they  say.  Again  the  altitude.  If 
a  man  ran  away  with  his  friend's  wife,  there 
would  surely  be  some  one  to  excuse  it  on 
the  plea  of  the  altitude. 

So  it  will  be  seen  that  sun  and  air,  like 
poisons,  are  only  remedial  when  used  in 
diluted  form,  and  have  a  disastrous  effect 
upon  overexposed  nerves  and  morals. 

For  this  reason  Denver  society  has  more 
sharply  divided  social  lines  than  most  cities 
of  its  size  and  youth.  One  set  stops  at 
nothing;  the  other  is  almost  puritanical. 
Those  who  are  shocked  by  the  excesses  of 
the  first,  and  repelled  by  the  limitations  of 
the  second,  have  the  dullest  time  of  all, 
being  obliged  to  watch  their  every  word 
and  choose  their  every  act,  for  malignant 
gossip,  which  in  lower  altitudes  merely 


Cornelia  Winthrop  33 

flourishes,  attains  to  a  poisonous  tropical 
growth  in  Denver,  while  perhaps  if  it  lay 
lower  — 

But  however  — 

It  is  idle  to  speculate.  Let  it  simply  be 
said  that  moderation  is  looked  upon  with 
suspicion  by  the  extremists  of  both  sets, 
for  the  Puritans  are  as  vain  of  their  narrow- 
ness as  the  other  class  is  of  its  breadth. 

There  were  charming  people  in  Denver 
society  in  both  sets,  such  as  Mrs.  Lowe  and 
her  three  sisters,  all  tall,  beautiful  women, 
and  one  the  wife  of  ex-Governor  Charnley. 
Denver  is  full  of  ex-governors  —  most  of 
them  able  men  with  admirable  wives,  but 
some,  alas,  boors  so  ignorant  of  society  and 
its  ways  that  one  marvels  that  even  politics 
could  seat  them  in  the  gubernatorial  chair. 
One  governor  elected  from  the  southern 
part  of  the  State  arrived  in  Denver  with  his 
luggage  in  gunny-sacks  tied  with  clothes- 
line. He  rented  one  of  the  handsomest 
houses  in  Denver,  with  tapestry-covered 
walls  and  priceless  rugs,  but  finding  living 
more  expensive  than  he  had  calculated  upon, 
he  sent  his  wife  back  to  the  ranch,  dismissed 
his  servants,  and  cooked  his  own  meals  on  an 


34     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

oil  stove,  set  up  in  a  white  and  gold  boudoir 
on  the  second  floor. 

But  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Lowe,  Mrs.  Charn- 
ley,  was  of  a  different  sort.  These  ladies 
would  have  graced  a  drawing-room  on  Fifth 
Avenue  and  have  been  quite  at  home  there. 
In  addition  to  these  graces,  they  were  so 
charmingly  devoted  to  each  other  that,  when 
the  four  of  them  paid  a  round  of  calls  to- 
gether, the  footman  always  had  to  speak 
twice,  each  was  so  absorbed  in  conversation 
with  her  own  sisters. 

So  difficult  is  this  task  of  steering  between 
the  two  sets  that  it  might  almost  be  said 
that  there  was  no  middle  course  in  Denver 
society.  Money  reigns  supreme,  nor  will 
it  do  to  inquire  too  closely  into  your  neigh- 
bour's past.  The  early  days  lie  too  near. 
Miners,  who  struck  it  rich  and  about  whose 
eldest  children  there  floats  a  suspicion  of 
carelessness  as  to  the  marriage  dates  of  their 
parents,  bring  their  wives,  once  cooks  or 
even  women  of  the  town,  to  Denver.  Their 
millions  buy  them  all  that  is  required.  A 
few  years,  a  very  few,  and  they  are  able 
to  see  their  daughters  return  from  an  East- 
ern school  and  lock  arms  with  the  blue- 


Cornelia  Winthrop  35 

blooded,  who  cannot  repel  the  onslaught  of 
such  colossal  fortunes.  The  blue-blooded, 
the  well-born,  are  there,  but  are  tossed  help- 
lessly on  the  in-rolling  sea  of  money,  even 
though  it  covers  more  than  coarseness  and 
illiteracy. 

It  was  into  this  heterogeneous  mass  of 
so-called  society  that  Cornelia  Winthrop 
found  herself  plunged,  when  her  husband's 
death  on  board  his  yacht  left  her  with  only 
a  pittance  of  money  and  an  all  but  worth- 
less gold  mine  in  Colorado. 

As  she  unearthed  his  debts  and  paid  them 
all,  even  the  most  disgraceful,  the  last  rem- 
nant of  her  respect  and  love  for  him  died. 
She  wiped  out  his  debts  with  a  flush  of 
scorn  and  averted  face.  She  felt  that  the 
money  which  paid  them  polluted  her  finger- 
tips. The  cheques  she  signed  reeked  of  their 
foul  errands.  But  of  all  this  even  her  near- 
est and  dearest  were  ignorant.  She  tried  to 
conceal  it  from  even  her  lawyers.  Bob 
Sylvestre,  who  had  loved  her  before  she 
married  Gallup  Winthrop,  only  suspected. 
But  when  she  declared  that  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  go  to  Denver  and  see  if  any- 
thing could  be  done  with  the  mine,  he 


36     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

followed  and  soon  unearthed  in  the  Marston 
railroad  an  excuse  for  staying. 

These  two  were  riding  along  Grant  Ave- 
nue several  weeks  after  the  morning  of 
Patricia's  interview  with  her  father,  wait- 
ing for  her  to  overtake  them.  They  were 
going  to  select  a  polo  ground.  They  drew 
rein  to  let  the  trolley  flash  by.  As  they 
rode  up  on  the  track  Sylvestre  pointed  with 
his  crop. 

"  Here  is  one  of  the  greatest  puzzles  of 
the  business  world." 

"  What?    This  trolley?  "  asked  Cornelia. 

"  The  trolley  is  part  of  it.  I  can't  make 
Marston  out.  I  am  positive  that  he  is  up 
to  some  devilment.  He  claims  that  he  wants 
to  retire  from  active  business  and  go  into 
politics.  But  I  don't  believe  it.  I  can't  help 
thinking  that  he  is  in  some  way  interested  in 
this  transcontinental  railroad,  although  it  is 
being  financed  and  put  through  by  the  New 
York  set." 

"  But  what  would  be  his  motive?  "  asked 
Cornelia. 

'  That  is  what  I  don't  know.  Abernethy 
has  about  decided  to  buy  the  trolley  for  his 
syndicate.  He  is  quite  chuckling  over  the 


Cornelia  Winthrop  37 

snap.  He  was  approached  by  a  party  — 
he  didn't  give  his  name  —  with  inside 
knowledge  which  was  very  valuable  to 
Abernethy.  Of  course  he  will  have  to  pay 
the  middleman  handsomely  for  it  —  some- 
thing like  two  thousand  pounds  cash  on  the 
day  the  money  is  paid  over  —  and  the  price 
made  Abernethy  gasp,  but  he  declares  it  is 
worth  it.  He  expects  to  sell  the  trolley  to 
the  railroad  inside  of  a  year.  I  don't  like 
the  looks  of  it.  I  warned  him  to  look  out 
for  a  nigger  in  the  fence,  but,  like  all  Eng- 
lishmen, he  is  quite  confident  of  his  own 
abilities  and  told  me  he  could  look  out  for 
himself." 

Cornelia  smiled.  She  knew  Sylvestre 
well.  She  knew  that  he  was  in  a  mood  when 
he  could  find  a  grievance  in  one  thing  as 
well  as  in  another.  He  had  no  particular 
interest  in  Abernethy  beyond  that  of  an 
ordinary  acquaintance.  No,  his  grievance 
lay  with  Cornelia  herself. 

Sylvestre  was  in  that  partially  irritated 
and  jealous  state  in  which  a  man  finds  him- 
self, when  he  has  begun  to  feel  a  proprietary 
interest  in  a  woman  before  he  has  the  rights 
of  either  lover  or  husband. 


38     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

Cornelia  lived  at  the  Brown  Palace  Hotel 
with  a  colourless  mother  who  counted  for 
nothing.  Cornelia  often  went  into  the  din- 
ing-room alone.  She  was  young.  She  was 
beautiful,  and  men  stared  at  her.  Of  all 
this  Bob  Sylvestre  highly  disapproved.  He 
came  perilously  near  disapproving  of  her 
beauty  except  when  he  was  alone  with  her. 
He  disapproved  most  of  all  of  her  acquaint- 
ance with  Patricia  Marston. 

"  She  rides  like  a  centaur,  Bob,  and  you 
can't  deny  that  she  has  a  lovely  face  and 
the  figure  of  a  goddess,"  she  was  saying. 

"She  rides  like  Buffalo  Bill  and  talks 
like  a  cowboy,"  answered  Sylvestre,  with 
drawn  brows. 

"  But  she  is  honest  and  fearless  and  good. 
Oh,  Bob,  you  ought  to  appreciate  such  an 
innocent  creature  as  Patricia.  Her  heart 
is  one  I  would  try  to  win  if  I  were  a  man." 

"  You  aren't  suggesting  that  I  might  try 
for  it,  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  man,  bending 
his  sudden  gaze  upon  her. 

A  wave  of  colour  swept  over  her  face. 

"  No,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I  don't  care  to 
have  you  love  her,  Bob." 


Cornelia  Winthrop  39 

Their  love  for  each  other  was  understood, 
but  was  not  to  be  spoken  of  —  at  present. 

"  But  you  have  taken  her  up,  have  you 
not?  "  he  went  on.  "  Do  you  think  you  can 
afford  to  be  seen  going  about  with  a  girl 
who  is  not  in  even  the  society  of  her  own 
town,  who  —  " 

Cornelia  gave  him  a  look. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  said,  evenly,  "  that 
I  care  what  anybody  in  Denver  thinks  of 
me?  Is  not  my  position  secure  enough 
where  I  come  from,  to  bear  even  a  few  com- 
ments from  such  as  would  comment  upon 
what  I  choose  to  do?  And  if  I  am  seen  with 
Patricia  Marston,  will  she  not  be  counte- 
nanced by  even  the  choice  society  of  Den- 
ver?" 

Sylvestre's  face  flushed. 

"  There's  no  use  in  being  so  nasty  about 
it,  Cornelia.  I  didn't  mean  to  annoy  you 
nor  to  insinuate  —  I  was  only  thinking  that 
people  here  don't  know  who  you  are.  They 
have  heard  of  you  at  Newport  and  in  New 
York  and  Washington,  but  that  means  noth- 
ing to  people  who  don't  belong,  —  to  people 
who  get  their  idea  of  society  from  the  '  So- 
cial Column  '  of  the  Sunday  papers,  whether 


40     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

they  live  in  Denver  or  Salt  Lake  or  Chicago. 
To  these  people  you  are  —  forgive  me,  Cor- 
nelia, but  I'm  going  to  be  rude  —  to  these 
people  you  are  no  more  than  any  pretty  little 
widow  who  comes  to  Denver  with  a  scheme. 
You  might  just  as  well  be  in  Washington 
with  a  '  claim.'  They  don't  know  who  your 
people  are.  They  don't  know,  as  I  do,  that 
anything  you  might  do  or  say  would  be 
forgiven  at  home,  because  you  are  Cornelia 
Winthrop  and  have  all  the  backing  there  is. 
You  don't  seem  to  understand  and  I'm  only 
trying  to  explain  —  " 

"  I  do  understand  more  than  you  think," 
she  interrupted,  "  and  I'm  not  even  annoyed 
at  your  brutality,  because  you  are  only  try- 
ing to  take  care  of  me,  and  you  don't  quite 
know  how.  I  know  that  these  people  do 
not  know  who  I  am,  but  why  should  they? 
And  who  am  I  anyway?  A  woman,  well 
born.  But  I  have  no  money,  so  my  birth 
counts  for  nothing  out  here.  Well,  why 
should  it?  And  do  we  care  for  the  opinion 
of  those  whose  good-will  I  could  buy  if  I 
had  a  fortune?  I  did  not  come  out  here 
for  society.  God  knows  I  have  had  enough 
of  that,"  she  exclaimed,  with  sudden  bitter- 


„         '  Cornelia  Winthrop  41 

ness,  and  Sylvestre  knew  she  was  thinking 
of  her  husband.  She  recovered  herself  and 
went  on: 

"  People  talk  everywhere  —  you  know 
that.  But  if  I  befriend  a  pure  and  lovely 
girl  who  has  no  faults  which  I  can  discover, 
except  those  of  a  merry  tomboy,  why  not 
let  me  do  it?  I  can  do  her  much  good, 
and  she  can  do  me  no  harm." 

"  But  her  language,  Cornelia !  I  have 
never  heard  a  beautiful  mouth  so  disfigure 
itself  with  such  slang." 

"  But  that  is  a  fault  which  she  may  — 
will  correct.  And  I  know  just  why  she  will 
correct  it.  You  might  be  surprised,  you 
who  dislike  it  so,  to  know  what  that  very 
slang  and  her  wild  ways  and  her  wilful 
manner  have  done  for  her." 

"  I  can't  believe  that  they  have  done  any- 
thing very  good,"  said  Sylvestre,  with  a 
frown. 

"  But  they  have,  although  it  is  a  secret  as 
yet.  Perhaps  it  is  a  secret  even  from  her." 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  Keep  your  eyes  open 
and  you  will  learn,"  answered  the  woman. 

Sylvestre  shook  his  head  and  sighed,  as 


42     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

if  he  gave  it  all  up.  But  he  was  uncon- 
vinced. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  squared  in  her  saddle  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  Bob,"  she  said,  "  you  are  a  good  man, 
refined  and  gentle,  but  sometimes  you  appear 
narrow  to  me  and  —  very  young.  Perhaps 
I  don't  understand  you.  Possibly  you  don't 
understand  me.  I  have  lived  through  a 
good  deal,  Bob,  more  than  you  will  ever 
know,  and  perhaps  it  has  given  me  a  changed 
view.  At  any  rate  it  has  taught  me  to 
appreciate  purity  and  truth  and  honour  in 
man  or  woman.  But  only  purity  and  truth 
and  honour,  with  no  enlivening  sense  of 
humour  to  lend  excitement  or  patience  would 
bore  me  to  death !  " 

Sylvestre  looked  at  her  with  puzzled  and 
slightly  troubled  eyes.  He  was  a  trifle 
stupid. 

"  I  don't  quite  see  how  a  sense  of  humour 
would  —  "  he  began,  but  the  woman  inter- 
rupted him,  with  one  of  her  lightning  flashes 
of  intuition  which  so  dazzled  him. 

'You  are  going  to  say  you  don't  see 
how  a  sense  of  humour  lends  patience.  But 
think.  How  could  I  have  borne  my  life  — 


Cornelia  Winthrop  43 

you  knew  Gallup  and  you  knew  my  father 
—  how  could  any  woman  have  borne  what 
I  have  without  a  sense  of  humour?  Grim, 
perhaps,  at  times,  but  it  always  enabled  me 
to  step  outside  of  myself  and  take  the  point 
of  view  of  a  third  person,  who  was  neither 
my  husband  nor  myself.  Yet  who,  know- 
ing us  both  so  well,  could  laugh!  I  should 
have  gone  mad  or  committed  suicide  if  I 
hadn't  been  able  to  laugh.  Oh,  you  can 
bear  things,  if  occasionally  you  can  step 
aside  and  laugh  at  them !  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Sylvestre,  slowly.  But  he 
did  not  see.  Very  few  men  can  see  when 
a  woman  they  love  is  trying  to  unravel  an 
objectionable  knot  in  the  feminine  make-up. 
"  But,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  flush,  "  par- 
don my  referring  to  it,  but  if  you  have  —  as 
you  have  gone  through  all  you  say  you  have, 
why  do  you  long  for  more  of  the  same  — 
er  —  '  excitement/  I  believe  you  called  it?  " 

"  Not  the  same  kind,"  said  Cornelia, 
quickly,  "but  excitement  of  some  kind. 
That's  why  I  came  out  here  to  investigate 
my  mine.  I  only  reproach  myself  because 
I  let  you  waste  your  time  helping  me  to 
look  into  it.  If  I  choose  to  waste  mine,  that 


44     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

is  my  affair.  A  woman's  time  is  not  valua- 
ble. But  yours  —  " 

"  I  couldn't  have  done  better  with  my 
summer,"  declared  Sylvestre.  "  I  surveyed 
a  connecting  line  between  Jed  Brown's  little 
ten-mile  railroad  and  Sick  Devil  Gap  — 
where  the  new  railroad  must  run  if  it  goes 
at  all.  I'm  going  to  New  York  to  offer  my 
plan  to  those  men.  The  road  must  go 
through  Agua  —  there  is  no  other  way. 
You  need  mention  it  to  no  one  —  urge  your 
claim  upon  no  one.  Sit  still  and  make  the 
promoters  come  to  you.  Your  mine  might 
as  well  not  exist  for  you,  with  no  capital. 
It  is  a  rich  man's  mine.  It  will  take  the 
most  expensive  of  machinery  and  millions 
of  capital,  which  may  take  you  years  to  get. 
Therefore  my  advice  is  to  sell  it  and  let 
somebody  else  do  the  waiting." 

"  That  is  my  idea  exactly.  I'd  rather 
have  a  hundred  thousand  now  than  a  mil- 
lion ten  years  from  now,"  said  Cornelia. 

"  Won't  this  furnish  you  with  your  '  ex- 
citement '  ?  "  asked  Sylvestre. 

"Of  one  sort  —  yes.  But  I  also  crave  a 
social  sort,  such  as  Patricia  furnishes.  Why 
do  I  wish  it?  Because  I  am  I!  Because 


Cornelia  Winthrop  45 

I  am  the  kind  who  hates  a  dead  level.  Be- 
cause I  —  I  often  think  "  —  she  sank  her 
voice  to  a  whisper  —  "  that  was  why  I  mar- 
ried Gallup  Winthrop.  I  didn't  realize  how 
much  more  he  was  than  I  wanted,  nor  what 
it  would  seem  at  close  range.  That  is  why 
no  woman  of  my  temperament  should 
marry  young.  Too  often  she  marries  from 
curiosity.  She  thinks  she  knows  the 
world  —  " 

Mrs.  Winthrop  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  as  if,  in  a  backward  glance,  she  saw 
too  much.  She  recovered  herself  quickly 
and  went  on: 

"  Perhaps  you  will  understand  me  better 
if  I  ask  you  if  you  don't  actually  hate  a  hero- 
ine in  a  book  who  is  too  beautiful  and  too 
good  and  who  never  uses  slang,  nor  uses 
rouge  nor  powder  nor  has  sick  headaches 
nor  anything  natural!  Don't  you  long  to 
hiss  such  a  leading  lady  on  the  stage?  " 

"  Why,  no !  "  exclaimed  Sylvestre,  in  a 
shocked  tone.  He  glanced  half  fearfully  at 
the  complexion  of  the  woman  at  his  side, 
wondering  if  he  would  be  able  to  detect  it, 
if  she  did  use  rouge. 


46     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

She  met  his  glance  with  a  disconcerting 
laugh. 

"  You  are  too  stupid  to  know  it  if  I  did !  " 
she  mocked.  "  But  just  to  prove  to  you  that 
I  don't  —  that  is,  that  I  have  none  on  to- 
day," she  interrupted  herself  to  laugh  a 
little  —  he  was  such  easy  game!  — 
"  Look." 

She  rubbed  her  cheek  fiercely  with  her 
handkerchief  and  held  it  out  to  him.  His 
eyes  took  in  the  reddened  cheek,  but  he 
turned  his  head  away.  He  refused  to  look 
at  the  handkerchief.  She  saw  the  gauntlet 
which  held  the  reins  tighten. 

"Bob,"  she  said,  softly.  "Forgive  me! 
I  didn't  mean  to  tease  you." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Cornelia,"  he  said,  simply.  "  I  have 
only  been  trying  to  say  that  I  feel  like  taking 
off  my  hat  when  I  even  think  of  you !  " 

He  never  made  any  other  apology  or 
excuse  for  his  lack  of  comprehension  or 
excess  of  zeal,  and  the  woman  riding  at  his 
side  drew  her  breath  sharply.  She  looked  at 
him  with  grateful,  shining  eyes. 

"  It  isn't  money  or  position  or  any  of 
those  things  which  matter  to  me  now,"  she 


Cornelia  Winthrop  47 

breathed.  "  All  I  want  is  to  be  happy.  To 
be  happy  just  once! " 

Sylvestre's  face  flushed  understandingly. 
He  opened  his  lips  to  reply,  but  hesitated, 
for  suddenly  the  clatter  of  a  madly  ridden 
horse  sounded  behind  them,  and  they  drew 
up  to  wait.  It  was  Patricia,  of  course. 

The  clatter  came  nearer  and  nearer.  Mrs. 
Winthrop's  eyes  sparkled  and  her  cheek 
flushed. 

"  Listen !  "  she  cried.  "  Hear  the  girl 
ride!  Oh,  Bob,  I  wish  I  could  ride  like 
that!" 

But  Sylvestre  was  not  envying  nor  admir- 
ing Patricia's  riding.  He  was  wondering 
what  Cornelia  meant  when  she  said  that 
Patricia  had  a  secret.  What  could  her  secret 
be  ?  Had  somebody  fallen  in  love  with  her  ? 
It  was  not  impossible,  for  there  were  men 
—  somewhere  —  who  would  not  be  repelled 
by  the  freedom  of  her  speech.  Perhaps  some 
of  the  officers  at  Fort  Logan.  He  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  her  dancing  quite  fre- 
quently with  two  lieutenants,  Buckerman 
and  Coatsworth  he  believed  they  were.  But 
Patricia  Marston  married  into  the  army? 
He  fairly  gasped  at  the  idea.  He  ran  over 


48     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

the  list  of  the  bachelors  at  the  Denver  Club. 
It  might  be  one  of  these.  But  would  Cor- 
nelia call  their  falling  in  love  with  a  girl 
"  a  good  thing  "  for  her?  He  thought  not. 
His  mind  turned  to  the  list  of  transients  in 
Denver  —  always  a  long  one  and  one  which 
frequently  bore  honoured  names.  There  was 
Lord  Abernethy.  He  smiled  involuntarily 
at  the  idea  of  his  caring  for  Patricia.  He 
would  be  a  catch.  But  Abernethy?  The 
idea!  It  might  be  Sir  Wemyss  Lombard. 
He  was  a  sport  and  fond  of  —  yes,  by  Jove ! 
He  was  fond  of  polo!  They  were  intent 
upon  introducing  the  game  to  Denver,  and 
that  very  morning  were  on  their  way  to 
select  a  ground.  Well,  well!  Sylvestre 
involuntarily  straightened  himself,  being 
puffed  up  with  vainglorious  pride  at  having 
put  two  and  two  together  and  made  one  out 
of  it.  Cornelia  Winthrop  couldn't  have  done 
it  better,  he  reflected. 

He  was  so  pleased  with  himself  that  he 
became  benevolent  to  Patricia  and  felt  in- 
clined to  look  with  different  eyes  upon  her 
beauty. 


CHAPTER    IV 

ABERNETHY    AND    MARSTON 

JIMMIE  CHEROOTS  report  to  G.  W. 
was  in  all  respects  satisfactory.  He 
carefully  baited  the  Englishman,  and 
negotiated  between  them  until  Abernethy 
was  convinced  that  he  had  a  wonderful  bar- 
gain in  his  option  on  the  trolley  stock  at 
$150  per  share,  and  G.  W.  frankly  said  that 
Cheroot  was  a  wonder. 

At  a  game  where  both  parties  were  to  be 
outwitted  by  a  third  and  that  third  was 
Jimmie,  he  certainly  was  a  "  wonder." 

Up  to  this  point  Jimmie  had  been  an 
effectual  go-between  and  G.  W.  had  not  met 
Lord  Abernethy.  But  the  time  came  when 
a  meeting  was  inevitable  and  Jimmie  could 
no  longer  keep  them  apart.  He  was  a  little 
anxious,  as  was  only  pardonable,  that  no 
private  conversation  should  take  place  be- 
tween them,  as  it  might  prove  a  trifle  embar- 
49 


50     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

rassing  if  they  should  learn  that  he  was  tak- 
ing a  commission  from  both.  Jimmy  was 
sensitive  about  things  of  that  sort. 

But  Marston  was  not  anxious  for  a  close 
acquaintance  with  the  noble  English  lord, 
for  he  despised,  as  only  a  rough  Westerner 
can,  the  rings  on  Abernethy's  hands,  his 
monocle,  and  above  all  his  bracelet-watch. 
No  red  rag  was  ever  so  irritating  to  a  bull 
as  that  bit  of  leather  was  to  Marston.  His 
fingers  curled  involuntarily  whenever  he 
thought  of  it.  He  wondered  if  he  would  be 
able  to  hold  himself  in  when  they  met. 

Fitzhugh  St.  John  Goddard,  Lord  Aber- 
nethy,  only  son  of  the  Duke  of  Strowther  and 
brother  of  the  famous  beauty,  Lady  Mary 
Goddard,  was  of  the  slender,  fair,  blue- 
eyed  type,  with  narrow  shoulders  and  an 
incipient  cough.  Having  been  wounded  in 
South  Africa  and  being  curious  of  temper, 
he  naturally  came  to  America  and  to  the 
high  altitude  of  the  Rockies. 

He  came  intending  to  lead  an  idle  life  as 
far  as  work  was  concerned,  but  strenuous 
as  to  play.  But  no  sooner  was  it  learned  that 
he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  mines,  railroads, 
and  other  colossal  ways  of  making  money, 


Abernethy  and  Marston       51 

than  several  of  his  father's  friends,  with 
more  money  than  judgment,  wrote  him  to 
keep  his  weather  eye  open  for  investments, 
"  preferably  mining,"  they  said. 

"  Preferably  mining !  " 

It  would  seem  almost  a  pity  for  even  an 
honest  man  to  let  slip  an  opportunity  to 
annex  money  which  was  so  easy  as  that. 
But  with  the  Denver  business  market  in  the 
state  it  was  then,  one  need  not  worry  for 
fear  Abernethy's  English  friends  would  not 
be  accommodated  with  opportunities  to  in- 
vest, for  no  sooner  had  the  indiscreet  young 
man  casually  mentioned  that  he  had  been  so 
instructed,  than  the  vultures  which  infest  the 
town  for  the  express  purpose  of  robbing  the 
unwary  by  foolish  investments  of  wise  capi- 
tal, circled  around  him  and  roosted,  so  to 
speak,  in  every  dead  tree  near  which  he 
halted. 

Had  his  friends  in  England  only  known 
this  phase  of  Denver  life,  it  would  have  been 
wiser  if  they  had  frankly  cabled  him,  "  If 
you  see  any  gold  bricks,  buy  them  for  us." 

But  Abernethy  had  all  of  an  Englishman's 
good  opinion  of  himself  and  his  capacity  for 
knowing  what's  what,  and  if  any  one  had 


52     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

warned  him,  he  would  have  felt  offended. 
He  was  stubborn  in  spite  of  his  gentle  speech 
and  opinionated  in  spite  of  his  courteous 
manner.  He  never  thrust  his  views  upon 
any  one,  but  if  you  asked  for  them,  you  got 
them  straight,  no  matter  whose  feelings 
were  hurt.  You  could  drive  him  into  a 
corner,  but  you  could  not  make  him  sur- 
render. 

He  had  no  tact  and  he  was  ignorant  of 
the  small  prejudices  of  American  men.  He 
had  been  brought  up  as  an  English  gentle- 
man, and  he  never  knew  how  certain  small 
so-called  affectations  of  this  up-bringing 
could  sting  those  who  were  unfamiliar  with 
them.  He  had  never  had  occasion  to  realize 
that  the  hide  of  an  American  man  in  busi- 
ness may  be  as  thick  as  that  of  a  pachyderm, 
while  in  things  social  a  gnat-bite  would  raise 
a  poisoned  white  welt.  » 

It  was  only  natural  that  Abernethy  should 
fall  a  victim  to  the  dazzling  glories  of  the 
Marston  trolley  scheme,  as  set  forth  by 
Cheroot,  and  when  G.  W.  was  told  the  result 
of  the  negotiations,  he  licked  his  jaws  pre- 
paratory to  making  one  bite  of  Abernethy 
and  his  trusting  English  friends. 


im 

Abernethy  and  Marston       53 

An  informal  meeting  of  those  interested 
had  been  called  for  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  at  the  Marston  Bank,  and 
promptly  at  the  hour  the  men  began  to 
file  in. 

Bunce  came  first,  being  anxious  to  look 
the  ground  over  and  see  if  he  saw  any  signs 
of  the  Marston  method.  Bunce  was  impor- 
tant to  G.  W.,  for  Bunce  had  a  brother  who 
was  president  of  a  bank  in  Omaha,  and 
another  in  New  York.  It  would  never  do  to 
offend  Bunce.  Therefore  G.  W.  received 
him  with  cordiality  and  offered  him  a 
cigar. 

Next  Crossfuylen,  the  cashier,  and  Jed 
Brown  entered.  Crossfuylen  had  a  waist 
like  a  girl,  delicate  lungs,  a  furtive  manner, 
and  light  green  eyes. 

Sir  Wemyss  Lombard  followed  these 
*two.  Marston  liked  Sir  Wemyss.  He  was 
big,  red-faced,  near-sighted,  and  silent.  He 
blushed  if  spoken  to  suddenly,  but  no  one 
who  looked  long  into  those  choleric  blue 
eyes  of  his  would  care  to  offend  him. 

In  addition  to  these  qualities,  he  could 
drink  a  quart  of  Scotch  whiskey  between 
ten  o'clock  at  night  and  bedtime  and  walk 


54     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

up-stairs  without  touching  the  banisters. 
This  inspired  Denver  men  with  absolute 
awe.  When  G.  W.  saw  him  do  it,  he  at 
once  offered  to  take  him  into  the  company, 
and  as  Sir  Wemyss  had  no  money,  G.  W. 
promptly  "  staked  "  him,  Sir  Wemyss  put- 
ting up  some  perfectly  worthless  shares  in 
an  East  Indian  company  against  shares  in  the 
Denver  trolley.  This  was  done  in  a  game  of 
poker  in  which  they  each  played  for  stock 
and  G.  W.  promptly  lost  purposely  to  Sir 
Wemyss  —  a  not  unheard-of  act  if  you 
knew  the  other  side  of  the  man.  No  one 
could  say  that  G.  W.  was  not  appreciative 
of  merit  whenever  and  wherever  he  found  it. 

When  Lord  Abernethy  entered,  G.  W. 
glanced  involuntarily  at  his  bracelet-watch, 
and  when  he  saw  it,  a  look  of  disgust  spread 
over  his  features. 

No  two  men  could  have  been  more  unlike 
than  Abernethy  and  Marston. 

Marston's  was  of  the  bulldog  variety  of 
countenance.  .  His  eyes  were  small  and 
brown,  with  inflamed  rims.  His  nose  was 
small  and  smoothly  bulbous,  with  tiny  pur- 
plish veins  showing  against  the  red.  It  was 
embedded  in  his  face,  while  his  jaws  were 


Abernethy  and  Marston       55 

loose-hung  and  closed  with  the  snap  of  a 
steel  trap.  He  was  an  exaggeration  of 
the  type  of  men  who  have  made  the  West, 
while  Abernethy's  was  that  of  an  English 
type,  overrefined,  overcivilized,  gone  to  seed. 

The  meeting  was  one  called  by  Marston 
for  the  double  purpose  of  entering  into  the 
agreement  with  Abernethy  to  give  to  him  a 
sixty-day  option  on  the  trolley  stock  for 
the  English  syndicate,  and  to  show  to  Tap- 
pen  and  Wright,  the  city  fathers,  that  he  was 
really  going  to  do  as  he  had  promised  them. 

Whenever  Marston  spoke  he  kept  his  eye 
on  Abernethy,  but  did  not  observe  that  the 
small,  piercing  eyes,  the  colour  of  Delft 
china,  of  Lombard  were  fixed  closely  upon 
his  own  person.  Sir  Wemyss,  fumbling  with 
his  watch-guard,  and  his  general  bungling 
manner  completely  threw  the  American  off 
his  guard.  "  A  damned  good  fellow,  but 
somewhat  of  an  ass  —  as  most  Englishmen 
are,"  was  Marston's  description  of  Sir 
Wemyss.  But  the  glorious  scheme  had  en- 
tered the  American's  mind  of  securing  Sir 
Wemyss  for  a  son-in-law.  He  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  in  deep  contemplation,  ending  by 


56     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

a  grave  shake  of  the  head,  every  time  he 
thought  of  that  quart  of  Scotch  whiskey. 

Meantime  Sir  Wemyss  had  his  suspicion 
of  that  poker  game,  and  he  had  all  of  an 
honest  man's  suspicion  of  a  proposition  to 
give  something  for  nothing.  So,  while  he 
was  too  wise  to  refuse  to  sit  in  the  game, 
he  saw  no  harm  in  watching  the  shuffling  of 
the  cards  and  the  movements  of  the  dealer. 

Jimmie  Cheroot  and  Ajbernethy  repre- 
sented the  purchasing  syndicate. 

Things  went  smoothly  in  the  meeting 
until  it  developed  that  the  purchasing  price 
was  at  $150  per  share.  Then  Jed  Brown's 
eyes  met  those  of  G.  W.,  for  G.  W.  had 
during  the  past  ten  days  taken  up  his  option 
on  Jed's  stock  at  $125,  and  although  legally 
the  action  could  not  be  questioned,  Jed  recog- 
nized the  Marston  method  in  it,  and  he  then 
and  there  made  up  his  mind  to  get  even  with 
G.  W.  He  glanced  piercingly  at  Jimmie 
Cheroot,  but  such  innocence  beamed  from 
the  dapper  little  blond  that  Jed  passed  on 
to  the  next.  Suddenly,  as  he  saw  the  shift- 
ing, uneasy  demeanour  of  Tappen  and 
Wright,  he  made  a  mental  note  of  them. 
He  also  determined  to  look  up  Sylvestre, 


Abernethy  and  Marston       57 

because  he  heard  that  Sylvestre  had  gone 
to  New  York  to  offer  his  survey  of  the  pass 
over  the  mountains  to  Lucius  Bunce  o>f  New 
York,  the  man  who  was  ostensibly  pro- 
moting the  railroad. 

But  notwithstanding  Jed's  indifference  to 
the  proceedings,  the  option  was  made  over 
to  the  syndicate,  represented  by  Lord  Aber- 
nethy, for  $150  per  share,  for  sixty  days. 

Abernethy  fumbled  with  his  gold  ciga- 
rette-case for  a  moment^  then  said,  absent- 
mindedly  : 

"  With  your  permission,  gentlemen,"  and 
then  took  out  a  cigarette. 

Unfortunately  the  watch-bracelet  came 
plainly  into  view. 

Instantly,  as  if  having  waited  for  an 
opening,  Marston  said: 

"  I  suppose  you  didn't  notice  that  the  rest 
of  us  are  smoking !  " 

Lord  Abernethy's  hand  trembled  almost 
imperceptibly  as  he  replied : 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Marston,  but  I  have 
had  no  occasion  to  notice  that  the  rest  of  you 
were  smoking." 

The  American  gripped  the  arms  of  his 
chair  convulsively  for  a  moment,  but  his 


58     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

Western  idea  of  hospitality  overrode  his 
anger  at  the  reproof,  and  with  an  effort  he 
said: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Abernethy,  I  did 
not  notice  that  cigars  had  not  been  passed 
to  you.  Crossfuylen,  damn  it,  am  I  to  tell 
you  every  time  a  gentleman  comes  in,  to 
offer  him  cigars  ?  " 

Crossfuylen  coloured  angrily  as  he  has- 
tened to  repair  his  omission.  He  had  been 
writing  when  his  chief  spoke,  and  as  he 
rose  to  obey  he  thrust  his  pen  behind  his 
ear,  with  the  habit  of  his  clerkly  days,  and 
as  he  proffered  the  cigars  to  the  English- 
man, the  pen  dropped,  leaving  a  large  splash 
of  ink  on  Abernethy's  shirt  cuff. 

Marston  hated  accidents  and  awkward- 
ness. He  glared  upon  his  unfortunate 
henchman. 

"  See  what  you  have  done!  "  he  growled. 
"  Well,  Abernethy,  I  am  sorry,  but  it's  a 
good  thing  it  wasn't  on  the  bosom,  or  you'd 
have  to  change  your  whole  shirt.  Now  all 
you  will  have  to  do  is  to  turn  your  cuffs." 

"  Turn  my  cuffs  ?  "  repeated  the  English- 
man, uncomprehendingly.  "  How  do  you 
mean?" 


Abernethy  and  Marston        59 

"  Reverse  them !  Turn  them  end  for 
end,"  said  Marston,  pulling  up  his  coat 
sleeve  and  exhibiting  a  surgical  sort  of  thing 
which  held  his  own  in  place,  beneath  which 
his  red  flannel  undershirt  could  be  plainly 
seen. 

Abernethy  leaned  forward  to  look. 

"  Aren't  your  cuffs  sewed  to  your  shirt  ?  " 
he  asked,  in  genuine  surprise.  "  Can  you 
change  one  without  the  other  ?  " 

"  Now  listen  to  him !  "  derided  the  West- 
erner. "Don't  you  wear  detached  cuffs?" 

Abernethy  coloured,  but  he  realized  that 
Marston  was  honest. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  he  said.  "  I  never  saw 
any  before." 

"  Why,  don't  they  wear  them  in  Eng- 
land ?  f  Why,  it's  a  Yankee  trick  to  save 
time  and  trouble." 

"  And  washing,  I  should  say,"  said  Aber- 
nethy. 

"  You  bet !  And  washing !  Honest,  now, 
didn't  you  ever  hear  of  them?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have.  I  think  my  man 
wears  them,  because  I've  had  occasion  to 
reprove  him  for  forgetting  them  once  or 


60     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

twice,  but  I  never  saw  —  er  —  the  process 
of  reversing  them,  as  you  call  it." 

Marston  was  quite  innocent  of  any  cause 
for  offence. 

As  the  room  cleared,  G.  W.  went  into  his 
private  office  and  beckoned  to  the  cashier. 
Crossfuylen  had  never  responded  to  his 
chief's  command  with  more  alacrity.  Bit- 
terness twofold  rankled  in  his  soul  against 
Abernethy.  First,  he  had  refused  Mrs. 
Crossfuylen's  invitation  to  dinner  with  no 
excuse,  and  second,  he  had  been  the  cause 
of  his  —  Crossfuylen's  —  being  sworn  at  in 
public  by  Marston.  G.  W.  was  too  shrewd 
to  let  the  public  know  how  completely  the 
cashier  was  dominated  by  the  president. 
Crossfuylen  was  thin-skinned  and  rancor- 
ous. He  determined  to  discover  just  how 
far  G.  W.  intended  to  go  with  the  English- 
man, and,  if  possible,  to  add  to  the  plan. 

"  We'll  make  it  go,  Crossfuylen,"  said 
Marston,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  I  shall  hold 
off  Tappen  and  Wright  by  explaining  my 
plans  —  some  of  them  —  to-night." 

Crossfuylen  made  a  few  rapid  notes. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Crossfuylen,  with  a 
smile  parting  his  thin,  dry  lips,  "  allow  me 


Abernethy  and  Marston        6 1 

to  congratulate  you  on  the  way  you  con- 
trolled yourself  when  Lord  Abernethy  in- 
sulted you  about  wearing  reversible  cuffs. 
Said  he  believed  his  servant  wore  them  —  as 
much  as  to  say  a  gentleman  wouldn't  —  and 
right  on  top  of  your  having  showed  him 
yours.  But  you  took  it  beauti —  " 

"  What !  "  roared  Marston,  with  a  red 
face,  "  was  that  what  he  meant  ?  Hum ! 
Hum!  Your  congratulations  are  a  little 
previous,  Crossfuylen.  I  don't  deserve 
them.  I  don't  know  what  I  could  have  been 
thinking  about  not  to  have  understood  what 
he  was  driving  at,  but  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  I  didn't  see  it  at  the  time,  at  all! 
Damn  me,  if  I  did!  What  do  you  think 
I'd  have  done!  But  are  you  sure  he  meant 
that?" 

"  Oh,  sure !  "  answered  the  cashier.  "  I 
saw  him  give  Sir  Wemyss  a  look  when  he 
said  it." 

"  He  meant  it,  did  he?  Well,  that  settles 
his  hash!  The  moment  his  syndicate  pays 
the  money  over  for  that  trolley,  I'll  not  only 
not  hold  Tappen  and  Wright  back  any 
longer,  but  I'll  sick  'em  on.  They'll  make 
them  take  up  that  conduit,  and  it'll  ruin 


62     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

them!  It'll  ruin  Abernethy  and  ruin  his 
company.  Abernethy  doesn't  know  that 
we'd  have  had  to  remove  that  conduit  long 
ago  if  I  did  not  control  the  city  council. 
Well,  he  won't  find  it  out  for  a  little  while 
longer,  and  then  it  will  be  too  late.  Said 
nobody  but  servants  wore  detached  cuffs,  did 
he?  Well,  he'll  have  to  do  more  than  re- 
verse his  cuffs  when  he  comes  to  dig  up  that 
conduit !  Eh,  Crossfuylen  ?  " 

The  cashier  grinned  silently,  then  gathered 
up  his  papers  and  went  out  to  where  Tappen 
and  Wright  were  still  nervously  awaiting 
him. 

"  Mr.  Marston  will  see  you  at  his  house 
to-night  at  eight,"  he  said,  significantly. 

And  it  was  Patricia  who  overheard  that 
short,  but  pointed  conference  —  the  only 
conference  which  held  the  key  to  the  whole 
of  Marston's  scheme  —  at  the  house  that 
night.  It  only  lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  was  so  innocent  in  character,  viewed 
apart  from  its  bearing  upon  the  rest  of  the 
plan,  that  G.  W.  unconsciously  raised  his 
voice. 

And  Patricia  heard  it  all. 


CHAPTER    V 

PATRICIA   MARSTON 

A  FEW  days  after  the  scenes  in  the 
foregoing  chapter,  Cornelia  was  sit- 
ting in  her  room  smiling  to  herself 
over  a  visit  she  had  just  received  from  Syl- 
vestre.  In  a  way  his  visit  had  been  dis- 
appointing. The  New  York  people,  while 
admitting  that  in  all  probability  his  was 
the  most  practicable  route  over  the  moun- 
tains, to  Agua,  the  town  nearest  Cornelia's 
property,  had  refused  to  buy  his  survey. 
Lucius  Bunce  even  refused  to  look  at  it  at 
first,  until  Sylvestre,  in  a  burst  of  rage,  in- 
timated that,  if  the  scheme  were  not  a  gi- 
gantic fake,  he  would  be  glad  at  least  to 
examine  it,  the  result  of  two  summers'  work. 
At  that  Bunce  consented  to  look  into  it. 

Cornelia  did  not  attach  any  importance 
to  this  point.    She  argued  that  the  thousands 
of   dollars    spent   in   advertising   in    every 
63 


64     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

paper  from  Maine  to  California  could  not 
possibly  be  wasted  by  any  sane  man.  If  the 
scheme  to  mislead  the  public  could  have  been 
done  cheaply,  she  might  have  believed  it,  but 
not  at  such  great  cost. 

She  lost  herself  pleasantly  in  a  dream  of 
how  she  could  spend  the  income  from  the 
sum  she  could  not  fail  to  realize  from  the 
sale  of  her  property  to  the  railway  company, 
and  she  felt  infinitely  wise  and  masculine  and 
commercial  to  think  that  she  was  going  to 
act  as  so  few  women  would,  in  selling  for  a 
moderate  sum  in  cash,  rather  than  wait  to 
develop  a  gold  mine  which  would  take  years 
and  millions  to  realize  on. 

Sylvestre  had  declared  that  the  road  must 
run  through  Agua,  and  she  believed  Bob 
implicitly  on  a  matter  of  business,  but  when 
he  invaded  her  realm  and  hazarded  a  guess 
that  it  was  Sir  Wemyss  Lombard  who  had 
captivated  Patricia  Marston  — 

A  sudden  sharp  knock  at  the  door  made 
her  start.  She  had  not  time  to  answer  it 
before  the  door  opened  and  Patricia  Mars- 
ton,  flushed,  nervous,  incoherent,  rushed  into 
her  presence. 

Patricia  was  beautifully  gowned  in  gray 


Patricia  Marston  65 

velvet  and  chinchilla  —  a  suggestion  from 
Cornelia  herself.  But  at  the  first  glance 
Cornelia  knew  that  something  was  vitally 
wrong  with  Patricia,  for  never  before  had 
her  appearance  been  so  nearly  distraught. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Cornelia,  tenta- 
tively. 

Patricia  got  up  and  walked  to  the  win- 
dow. She  held  her  muff  to  her  lips  and 
gazed  over  its  gray  fluff  at  the  range  of 
distant  mountains,  with  the  outline  of  the 
Holy  Cross  distinct  before  her  eyes. 

"  I've  got  to  tell  you,  but  it's  awful 
work,"  she  murmured,  indistinctly. 

"  Put  your  muff  down  and  talk  so  that 
I  can  hear  you,"  said  Cornelia.  "  May  I 
give  you  a  cup  of  tea?  " 

"  A  cup  of  tea !  "  cried  Patricia,  explo- 
sively. "  I  can't  be  bothered  with  tea  to- 
day! Oh,  excuse  me!  But  if  you  knew 
—  but  how  am  I  going  to  begin  without 
being  absolutely  brazen  ?  " 

Cornelia  saw  that  something  serious  was 
the  matter,  and  forebore  to  disturb  her. 

"  If  I  had  a  mother  —  "  began  Patricia. 
Then  seeing  Mrs.  Winthrop's  'ook  of  sur- 
prise, she  added,  "  I  mean  one  that  was  any 


66     The  Interference  of  Patricia 


—  I'd  go  to  her,  but  mother  is 
probably  reading  a  novel  by  the  Duchess, 
and  wouldn't  care  to  be  annoyed." 

The  girl  spoke  bitterly,  but  the  nervous 
eagerness  of  her  manner  only  increased. 

"  If  you  can  tell  me  —  "  began  Cornelia. 

"  I've  got  to  !  I'm  simply  driven  to  it. 
There's  no  other  way  !  "  said  Patricia.  "  If 
you  hate  me  afterward,  I  can't  help  it.  If 
you  are  horrified  at  my  disclosures,  I  shall 
lose  your  friendship.  But,  oh,  God!  what 
am  I  to  do?  " 

Her  voice  broke  into  a  wail  and  she  flung 
herself  on  to  the  couch,  her  whole  frame 
shaking  with  tearless,  convulsive  sobs. 

Instantly,  even  if  she  had  been  lukewarm 
before,  Cornelia  Winthrop  became  heart 
and  soul  the  friend  of  this  untamed  creature 
of  the  Rockies,  for  suffering  roused  all  the 
maternal  instinct  in  her,  which  had  been 
thwarted  all  her  brief  but  brilliant  married 
life. 

"  Patricia,"  she  said,  gently,  "  tell  me 
everything.  I'll  stand  by  you." 

Those  words,  although  unlike  Cornelia's 
usually  carefully  selected  sentences,  were 
just  the  tonic  which  Patricia  needed.  She 


Patricia  Marston  67 

sat  up  and  looked  the  Eastern  woman 
squarely  in  the  eye.  She  made  no  further 
apology  nor  explanation.  It  was  her  way 
to  be  direct  and  fearless  after  once  commit- 
ting herself  to  a  line  of  action. 

"  I  have  discovered  a  vile  plot  against 
Lord  Abernethy,"  she  began,  colouring 
divinely  at  the  mention  oi  his  name,  "  and 
it  will  shock  you  more  than  it  does  me  to 
know  that  my  father  is  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
for  I've  never  had  any  confidence  in  my 
father's  business  methods,  since  I  found  out 
about  one  of  his  deals  and  taxed  him  with  it. 
When  I  discovered  this  and  asked  him  about 
it,  he  admitted  it,  didn't  seem  to  know  that 
it  was  dishonourable,  didn't  care  when  I  told 
him,  and  refused  to  pull  out  when  I  begged 
him,  so  it's  up  to  me  now  to  beat  him  at 
his  own  game.  I  can't  call  him  off.  He 
wouldn't  listen." 

Although  Cornelia  carefully  concealed 
any  horror  she  might  feel  at  Patricia's 
words,  the  girl  herself  seemed  instinctively 
to  realize  that  she  must  explain.  Her  bril- 
liant sense  of  humour  came  to  her  rescue 
and  saved  her  from  becoming  tragic.  She 
gave  a  little  wintry  smile. 


68     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  Father  himself  once  gave  the  best  ex- 
planation of  business  here  in  Denver  that 
I  ever  heard.  An  old  friend  of  his  came  out 
here  and  father  met  him  on  the  street. 
*  Have  you  come  for  your  health  ?  '  he  asked. 
'  No,'  the  man  answered.  '  Marston,  I  have 
come  to  Denver  to  try  and  make  an  honest 
living.'  '  Well/  said  father,  '  you  have 
struck  the  only  line  in  Denver  in  which  you 
will  have  no  competition ! ' 

Her  pale  face  twitched  a  moment  with 
appreciation,  then  she  continued : 

"  Lord  Abernethy's  syndicate  is  about  to 
buy  the  Denver  trolley  system.  He  told  me 
so.  He  mentioned  it  when  he  was  saying 
how  much  he  liked  me  —  oh,  I  never  would 
have  dared  to  tell  you  if  I  hadn't  heard 
enough  to  make  me  think  he  cares!  For 
I  care  so  much!  I  care  enough  to  ruin  my 
father  to  save  him!  Is  that  wicked?  / 
don't  know.  I  don't  know  right  from  wrong 
as  other  people  see  it.  I  only  know  that  I 
never  see  but  one  road  ahead,  and  that's  the 
road  I  travel  on.  It  never  forks  for  me. 
It  leads  straight,  and  all  that  rot  about  a 
daughter's  duty  to  her  father  may  go  to 


Patricia  Marston  69 

the  devil  for  all  of  me,  if  my  father  is  bent 
on  ruining  and  disgracing  an  honest  man !  " 

"  But  would  you,"  asked  Cornelia,  "  if 
you  didn't  love  the  man  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  decidedly.  "  I  wouldn't 
bother.  I'm  not  here  to  reform  twentieth 
century  business  methods.  Let  other  people 
take  care  of  themselves.  I  am  here  with  you 
to-day  to  protect  —  Abernethy.  Tell  me  one 
thing  —  you  know  the  world.  He  hasn't 
proposed  to  me.  He  has  only  said  he  cared. 
He  wouldn't  deceive  me,  would  he,  just  for 
the  fun  of  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  he  would  not !  "  said  Cornelia, 
earnestly,  striving  to  allay  the  baleful  light 
which  for  a  moment  blazed  from  Patricia's 
eyes. 

"  Because  I'd  kill  him,  if  he  did,"  said  the 
girl  in  gray  velvet,  simply. 

Cornelia's  conventional  self  gasped. 
Then  her  pagan  self  —  that  side  of  her 
which  had  impelled  her  to  come  West  — 
asserted  itself,  and  her  soul  linked  itself  to 
Patricia's.  At  that  moment,  she  felt  that 
she  approved  of  Patricia.  Nay,  she  would 
even  help,  if  help  were  needed. 

"  Night  before  last  two  men  called  on 


JO     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

father.  Their  names  are  Tappen  and 
Wright.  They  are  councilmen,  and  father 
owns  them  body  and  soul,  but  it  is  near 
election  time  and  they  must  do  certain 
things.  Now,  public  opinion  demands  that 
the  underground  conduit,  which  should  have 
been  taken  up  when  the  cable  was  made  into 
a  trolley,  but  which  father  refused  to  do, 
must  b'e  taken  up  now.  It  will  be  ruinously 
expensive,  so  father  wants  to  sell  the  trolley 
first,  and  then  let  the  city  council  do  as  it 
pleases.  Of  course  he  would  just  as  soon 
sell  his  stock,  but  of  course  nobody  will 
buy,  because  everybody  here  knows  what 
must  be  done.  He  controls  the  newspapers, 
so  you  never  hear  anything  about  it.  Aber- 
nethy's  only  chance  is  to  have  somebody  tell 
him  about  it,  but  so  few  know  that  he  is 
the  purchaser,  and  those  who  know  are  all 
stockholders  and  as  anxious  to  sell  as  father 
is." 

"  Tell  him  yourself,"  cried  Cornelia. 

"I  couldn't,"  said  Patricia.  "I  simply 
couldn't.  I  thought  of  that.  I  have  thought 
of  everything.  But  it  would  look  so  brazen 
—  so  immodest  —  I  thought  perhaps  you 
could  suggest  something  —  " 


Patricia  Marston  71 

She  broke  off  suddenly,  for  Cornelia  had 
risen  abruptly  and  walked  to  the  window. 
She  saw  her  own  ruined  prospects  stare  her 
in  the  face.  She  began  to  piece  bits  of  in- 
formation together.  Sylvestre  had  told  her 
that  the  trolley  was  to  be  used  as  part  of  the 
new  railroad  which  was  to  run  through  her 
property.  She  had  never  heard  of  the 
abandoned  conduit,  nor  had  Bob.  They 
were  new  people  in  Denver.  So  was  Aber- 
nethy.  And  the  newspapers  were  occupied 
with  fresher  news.  If  the  railroad  did  not 
succeed  in  obtaining  a  right  of  way  through 
Denver,  it  would  not  run  to  Agua.  If 
Abernethy  were  not  warned,  the  English 
syndicate  would  buy  the  trolley,  and  resell 
it  to  the  railroad.  But  Patricia's  marriage 
would  never  take  place.  Abernethy  would 
never  marry  the  daughter  of  the  man  who 
had  disgraced  him  in  the  eyes  of  his  peers. 

It  cut  like  a  knife,  in  the  face  of  her  bitter 
disappointment,  —  at  what  she  thought 
would  delay,  if  not  postpone  altogether,  the 
sale  of  her  mine,  —  to  be  obliged  to  face  the 
situation  and  decide  to  help  Patricia.  For 
a  moment  she  almost  hated  the  girl  for 
bringing  the  information  to  her.  She  hated 


72     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

herself  for  taking  Patricia  up.  Bob  warned 
her  not  to.  This  was  the  result.  But  that 
would  not  aid  nor  hinder  the  fraud  of  the 
trolley  scheme.  Patricia  moved  uneasily  in 
her  chair,  and  Cornelia  turned  to  look  at 
her.  The  girl's  wide  eyes  held  a  look  of 
appeal,  yet  in  their  depths  was  an  expres- 
sion of  fearlessness  and  a  bravery  which 
brought  Cornelia  back  to  her  better  self. 
Patricia  rose  to  her  feet,  uncertain  how  to 
translate  Cornelia's  silence.  She  stood  so 
alone,  practically  motherless  and  fatherless, 
yet  with  her  instinct  for  the  true  and  right, 
and  with  those  eyes! 

Cornelia  decided.  But  her  decision  drew 
blood.  She  forgot  to  take  any  intermediate 
steps. 

"  I  have  decided  how  to  bring  you  out," 
she  began,  too  full  of  her  own  sacrifice  to 
choose  her  words. 

Patricia  started. 

"Into  society?"  she  asked,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes,"  answered  Cornelia. 

Patricia  walked  toward  the  door. 

"Good-bye,  Mrs.  Winthrop,"  she  said, 
with  flashing  eyes.  "I  came  to  ask  your 


Patricia  Marston  73 

help  in  a  matter  which  means  life  or  death 
to  me.  I  trusted  you  with  my  secret.  And 
you  talk  to  me  about  my  debut  into 
society ! " 

"  Patricia !  "  cried  Cornelia.  "  Don't  fly 
off  in  that  manner!  Listen  to  me.  It  is 
part  of  my  plan." 

But  the  shock  to  Patricia's  nerves  had 
been  too  great.  She  stood,  with  her  hand  on 
the  knob,  looking  doubtfully  at  her  friend. 

"  This  is  my  plan  for  warning  Lord 
Abernethy.  You  know  that  Mrs.  Lowe's 
bazar  in  aid  of  the  hospital  has  almost  been 
abandoned.  It  was  to  have  been  held  at  the 
governor's  house,  but  Governor  Coolidge's 
illness  has  put  an  end  to  everything.  They 
have  been  working  six  months  on  it,  but  not 
a  house  in  town  is  large  enough  except 
yours.  Strangely  enough,  your  house  was 
not  even  mentioned  in  canvassing  possibili- 
ties. It  is  thrown  open  so  seldom,  I  suppose 
they  never  thought  of  it." 

Patricia  coloured  hotly.  She  well  knew 
that  was  not  the  reason  Mrs.  Lowe  had  not 
suggested  it.  The  Marstons  were  not  con- 
sidered at  all  —  in  any  capacity  —  unless  for 
subscriptions!  She  wondered  if  even  Mrs. 


74     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

Winthrop's  influence  were  strong  enough 
to  secure  an  acceptance  of  it,  if  she  should 
offer  it.  But  her  faith  in  Cornelia's  influ- 
ence was  great. 

"  Perhaps  your  mother  may  object,"  Cor- 
nelia went  on,  "  but  you  must  persuade  her 
to  do  it.  Then  you  must  slip  away  from  the 
flower-table,  which  I  had  planned  to  get 
for  you,  and  disguise  yourself  as  a  gipsy 
fortune-teller.  I  will  see  to  it  that  Abernethy 
goes  to  you  to  have  his  palm  read,  and 
you  can  then  warn  him  about  the  abandoned 
conduit." 

Patricia  was  only  a  woman,  and  her  head 
swam  with  the  brilliance  and  magnitude  of 
the  plan.  She  knew  that  she  could  manage 
her  mother.  And  to  think  of  having  Mrs. 
Lowe,  Mrs.  De  Lancy,  Mrs.  O'Toole,  and 
Mrs.  Charnley,  the  leaders  of  Denver  society, 
familiarly  in  her  house,  discussing  things, 
driving  up  informally  mornings,  telephoning 
her  —  in  short,  that  she  was  at  one  bound  to 
be  one  of  them  —  thrilled  her  quite  as  de- 
lightfully as  the  fact  that  at  the  same  time  she 
would  rescue  her  lover  from  danger  and  dis- 
grace. Patricia  was  only  human,  and  she  was 
young.  A  tremendous  capacity  for  heroism 


Patricia  Marston  75 

was  closely  interwoven  with  a  truly  femi- 
nine vanity.  It  made  her  very  nice  to  know. 

"  Is  that  as  good  a  way  to  get  into  society 
as  a  ball,  or  something  of  that  kind  ?  "  asked 
Patricia,  with  an  idea  buzzing  in  her  mind 
worthy  of  G.  W.  himself. 

"  Much  better,"  answered  Cornelia. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  charity  for  covering 
a  multitude  of  sins !  " 

Cornelia  had  only  intended  to  be  witty, 
but  she  was  appalled  at  the  look  which 
crossed  Patricia's  face.  Too  well  the  West- 
ern girl  understood  the  neglect  with  which 
her  mother  had  been  treated.  In  this  case, 
however,  she  intended  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure. 

"  The  hospital  looks  lopsided  with  only 
one  wing.  Why  don't  they  build  the 
other?" 

"  They  haven't  the  money.  It  is  their 
cherished  plan,  however,  to  build  it  some- 
time. This  bazar  is  to  furnish  what  they 
have  already  built." 

"  Would  it  make  a  person  very  popular  to 
build  that  other  wing,  now  ?  "  asked  Patricia. 

Cornelia  looked  at  her.  Then  she  leaned 
forward  and  touched  Patricia's  knee. 


76     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  Patricia  Marston ! 
Could  you  manage  to  do  that  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  could." 

There  was  a  little  justifiable  pride  in  her 
voice.  Involuntarily  she  bit  her  lip  and  ran 
her  finger  under  the  edge  of  her  veil.  After 
all,  it  was  not  so  bad  to  have  nothing  but 
money.  It  made  even  Mrs.  Winthrop  sit 
up  to  know  Patricia's  power  in  that  direc- 
tion. Patricia  cleared  her  throat  in  a  pleased 
way  and  smoothed  her  muff  complacently. 

"  That  will  make  the  whole  thing  more 
than  simple.  It  will  make  it  easy.  I  will 
call  on  Mrs.  Lowe  to-day." 

Patricia  rose  to  go. 

"  Will  your  mother  consent  to  have  the 
bazar?"  asked  Cornelia. 

!(  You  may  have  the  house  at  any  time  you 
choose,"  Patricia  replied. 

It  was  the  American  girl's  answer. 


CHAPTER    VI 

HOW    PATRICIA    PREPARED    FOR    HER    PART 

DENVER  experienced  something  of 
a  shock  when  it  was  learned  that 
the  Marston  house  was  to  be  the 
scene  of  Mrs.  Lowe's  fair  for  the  hospital. 
But  as  excitement  of  any  sort  is  welcome 
in  Denver  (owing  to  the  altitude),  and  as 
Mrs.  Lowe  and  her  three  sisters  represented 
the  strongest  social  element  in  town,  it  soon 
came  to  be  taken  as  a  matter  of  course. 

No  little  enthusiasm,  however,  grew  in 
the  minds  of  the  promoters  of  the  bazar, 
when  they  saw  what  a  magician  Patricia 
proved.  Conveniences  arose  as  if  by  magic. 
Servants  were  in  profusion.  Her  carriages 
and  horses  were  at  the  disposal  of  the  com- 
mittee day  and  night.  Electricians  wired 
and  rewired  the  house  and  grounds  and  con- 
servatories. Car-loads  of  flowers  were 
77 


78     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

ordered.  Such  profusion  and  magnificence 
were  unknown. 

Meantime,  although  the  time  was  short, 
three  persons  had  not  been  idle.  Patricia 
herself,  Cornelia,  and  Jed  Brown  were  all 
working  for  the  same  end,  the  two  women 
ignorant  of  their  man  ally.  Patricia  and 
Cornelia  were  gathering  all  the  information 
possible  for  Patricia's  part  as  fortune-teller. 
Jed  Brown  was  groping  for  a  plan  to  ruin 
G.  W. 

Patricia's  instinct  somehow  told  her  to 
question  Mrs.  Jimmie  Cheroot,  and  she 
came  out  from  her  interview  with  flames 
of  colour  in  her  cheeks.  Sundry  adroit 
questionings  secured  from  her  father  suffi- 
cient information  to  cause  her  to  clap  her 
hands  with  delight.  A  few  more  such  suc- 
cesses and  she  would  have  the  threads  of 
destiny  in  her  hands  for  half  the  people 
in  Denver.  She  checked  the  names  off  on 
her  fingers.  Cornelia  must  see  to  it  that 
Jed  Brown,  Jimmie  Cheroot,  and  Abernethy 
must  come  to  her  booth  to  have  their  palms 
read. 

During  all  this  time  G.  W.,  too,  was  in 
his  element.  He  began  to  think  that  mov- 


How  Patricia   Prepared        79 

ing  in  the  best  society  was  more  exciting 
than  making  money.  It  flattered  his  vanity 
to  be  consulted  by  such  women  as  Mrs. 
Lowe  and  her  sisters.  He  gave  Patricia 
her  cheque  to  build  a  wing  to  the  hospital 
with  a  twinkle  of  delight  in  his  eye. 

"  Patrichy's  the  stuff,"  he  said  to  him- 
self over  and  over  as  he  viewed  the  disorder 
and  chaos  of  his  house. 

"  Trust  that  girl  of  mine  to  get  what 
she  wants,"  and  he  let  his  mind  wander  hap- 
pily to  the  time  when  the  Englishman  who 
could  stand  up  under  a  quart  of  whiskey 
should  be  safely  shelved  as  Patricia's  hus- 
band and  his  son-in-law. 

The  younger  set  were  not  slow  to  see 
in  Patricia  a  new  and  valuable  addition  to 
their  circle.  They  viewed  her  possibilities 
in  a  flash  and  opened  their  arms.  The  girl 
accepted  their  advances  with  proud  humility, 
but  saw  to  it  that  she  gave  them  value  re- 
ceived for  whatever  they  did  for  her. 

Every  morning  now,  she,  too,  was  in- 
cluded in  the  little  group  which  made  a  daily 
showing  at  Showalter's  drug  store  on  Six- 
teenth Street,  where  the  soda-water  was 
the  best,  and  where,  around  its  marble 


8o     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

counters,  it  was  the  fashion  to  congregate. 
Everybody,  in  passing,  looked  in  at  Sho- 
walter's  to  see  who  was  there.  It  was  like 
the  market  in  Washington.  One  held  little 
receptions  there,  and  the  sayings  of  the 
negro  Charlie,  who  drew  the  soda-water, 
were  not  least  of  the  attractions.  To  one 
who  said : 

"Well,  Showalter's  is  getting  to  be  a 
regular  rendezvous,"  Charlie  said,  in  indig- 
nant remonstrance: 

"  Dat's  right !  Mek  use  ob  a  place  en 
den  call  it  names ! " 

But  much  as  Patricia  enjoyed  what  these 
hurried  days  brought  her,  the  real  interest 
in  her  life  lay  in  the  part  she  intended  to 
play  as  fortune-teller.  After  it  was  all  over, 
several  thought  she  must  possess  second 
sight  or  have  a  gift  for  mind-reading,  but 
they  little  knew  what  a  clever  woman, 
whose  lover  was  in  danger,  could  do,  when 
she  had  pitted  herself  against  men  who  were 
unsuspicious  and  susceptible  to  the  flattery 
of  a  pretty  girl.  As  an  example,  it  will 
be  seen  how  easy  it  was  for  her  to  gain  ma- 
terial, when  she  discovered  from  an  idle 
boast  of  her  father's  that  he  had  neatly 


How  Patricia   Prepared        8 1 

"  done "  Jed  Brown  out  of  thousands  by 
taking  up  his  option  on  Jed's  stock  at  $125, 
when  he  had  a  purchaser  in  Abernethy  at 
$150.  Patricia's  quick  mind  flew  at  once 
to  the  conclusion  that  Jed's  desire  for  re- 
venge might  be  useful  to  her. 

But  the  day  before  the  bazar  was  to  open, 
Sylvestre  nearly  upset  the  whole  affair  by 
mentioning  to  Patricia  that  the  new  railroad 
was  to  run  through  Cornelia's  property 
and  make  her  rich. 

It  was  fortunate  that  Sylvestre  was  a 
trifle  stupid  regarding  women,  as  has  been 
indicated,  otherwise  he  would  have  seen 
how  white  Patricia  grew  and  how  suddenly 
she  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  it's  bound  to.  I  only  mentioned 
it  to  you  because  you  like  her  so  much. 
I  knew  you  would  be  glad.  It  isn't  in  you 
to  be  envious." 

But  Patricia  did  not  even  hear  the  com- 
pliment—  the  first  he  had  ever  paid  her. 
Her  mind  flew  back  to  the  day  of  her  in- 
terview with  Cornelia  when  she  asked  her 
to  help  her  warn  Abernethy.  Patricia  saw 
it  all.  She  realized  the  shock  which  must 


82     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

have  come  to  Cornelia  when  she  saw  that 
her  hopes  had  been  built  on  sand,  and  the 
girl's  heart  suddenly  overflowed  in  passion- 
ate gratitude  to  the  woman  who  had  so 
nobly  put  her  own  disappointment  in  the 
background,  and  had  at  once  flung  herself 
into  a  plan  to  aid  Patricia  and  Abernethy. 

Patricia  leaned  her  head  on  her  arm  for 
a  moment. 

"Tired?"  asked  Sylvestre. 

"Very!" 

"  Better  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  said  Syl- 
vestre. "  There's  nothing  which  sets  my 
mother  up  like  a  cup  of  —  " 

"  I  thought  Mrs.  Winthrop's  property 
was  a  gold  mine,"  interrupted  Patricia. 

"  It  is,  and  the  biggest  one  in  the  State. 
It's  too  big  for  her  to  handle.  It  is  abso- 
lutely what  is  called  a  rich  man's  mine,  so, 
while  in  ten  or  fifteen  years  she  might  find 
people  to  take  it  up,  the  railroad  will  pay 
a  good  round  sum  in  cash  and  stock  to  her 
now,  and  she  is  just  sensible  enough  to  see 
it." 

"  But  the  railroad,"  insisted  Patricia. 
"  What  makes  you  think  it  will  run  through 
her  property  ?  " 


^ 

How  Patricia  Prepared        83 

"  It's  got  to  —  if  it  goes  at  all,"  answered 
Sylvestre.  "  I  have  spent  two  summers 
making  an  exhaustive  survey  of  the  route. 
Last  week  I  took  it  to  New  York  and  left 
it  with  the  promoters." 

"  Did  they  examine  it  ?  Did  they  accept 
it?"  asked  Patricia,  eagerly. 

Sylvestre  looked  at  her  with  suspicion. 

"  Excuse  me  for  asking.  But  I  am  so 
interested  —  for  —  for  Cornelia's  sake," 
said  Patricia. 

"Oh,  I  see!  Well,  they  wouldn't  look 
at  it  at  first.  In  fact,  although  I  brought  a 
letter  from  one  of  his  best  friends,  old 
Bunce  —  Lucius,  I  mean,  the  New  York 
one  —  wouldn't  even  see  me.  But  I  in- 
sisted, and  when  I  saw  him  he  wouldn't 
even  look  at  my  survey  —  said  they  had 
their  own  engineers.  That  made  me  pretty 
hot,  so  I  told  him  that  —  what  was  it  I 
said?  Oh,  that  unless  the  whole  thing  was 
a  fake,  he  ought  to  give  me  a  chance." 

"  You  said  that  to  Lucius  Bunce?  "  cried 
Patricia. 

"I  did  just  that!  Nervy,  wasn't  it? 
But  my  fighting  blood  was  up.  He  gave 
me  a  sharp  look,  but  took  my  papers  and 


84     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

blue-prints,  and  said  it  should  have  his 
personal  attention  and  that  I  should  hear 
from  him." 

"  Have  you  heard  ?  "  asked  Patricia. 

"Not  yet.  I  haven't  had  time.  But  I 
know  that  he  will  be  obliged  to  take  my 
plans,  for  it  includes  Jed  Brown's  road  — 
ten  miles  only,  to  be  sure,  but  still  ten  miles 
of  good  road  is  not  to  be  ignored." 

"  Does  Mr.  Brown  know  that  your  sur- 
vey includes  his  road  ? "  asked  Patricia. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  told  him,  of  course.  He 
just  laughed  and  said  the  railroad  would 
come  after  him  quickly  enough  if  they 
wanted  it." 

Patricia  got  up  and  walked  around  aim- 
lessly for  awhile.  They  were  in  the  con- 
servatory, and  servants  were  serving  tea 
for  the  tired  committee,  who  flitted  in  and 
out  without  paying  much  attention  to  the 
two  who  were  talking  so  quietly  behind 
the  palms. 

Suddenly  Patricia  came  close  to  Sylves- 
tre.  She  held  a  fold  of  a  heavy  curtain 
she  was  measuring  nervously  in  her  hand, 
and  she  spoke  excitedly. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  mines  ?    Is  Cor- 


How  Patricia    Prepared        85 

nelia's  really  a  valuable  one?  You  know 
I  don't  give  that  for  the  best  mining  prop- 
osition on  earth !  " 

"  But  your  father  has  made  millions  in 
them,"  said  Sylvestre. 

"  Yes,  but  never  until  somebody  else  had 
prospected.  Dad  never  risked  a  penny  on  a 
theory.  He  has  men  on  the  lookout  all  the 
time  for  a  good  thing  in  the  hands  of  poor 
men.  Then  when  they  need  more  money, 
father  advances  it  to  them  and  takes  stock 
as  security.  Soon  they  get  to  a  tight  place, 
or  discouraged  or  something,  when  father 
very  reluctantly  takes  over  the  mine,  works 
it,  and  gets,  for  almost  nothing,  all  their 
toil  and  hardship  and  experience.  That's 
how  father  mines !  Oh,  /  know  him !  " 

"  Well,  Cornelia's  has  been  opened  up, 
and  twenty,  perhaps  thirty  or  forty,  thou- 
sand dollars  sunk  in  it  already.  I've  been 
over  the  ground  carefully  and  know  what 
is  there,  but  it  is  too  far  away;  there  is  no 
railroad  nearer  than  Jed's,  which  heads 
toward  Agua,  and  the  veins  are  deep  and 
inaccessible  to  all  but  the  most  expensive 
machinery.  If  I  could  only  have  got  hold 
of  Abernethy  before  he  tied  himself  up 


86     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

with  the  trolley  —  of  course  you  won't 
agree  with  me  there,  for  your  father  will 
sell  his  property  instead  of  Mrs.  Winthrop 
and  myself!  —  but  I  only  learned  a  day  or 
two  ago  that  his  syndicate  instructed  him 
to  buy  mining  property  if  possible,  and  only 
yielded  their  consent  to  the  trolley  on  his 
representations  of  the  quick  turn  he  could 
make  with  the  railroad.  But  it's  no  good 
crying  over  spilled  milk.  I  sha'n't  see  such 
a  chance  as  that  again  for  ten  years.  Why, 
whatever  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  cried  Patricia,  "  but  I  do 
think  that  you  and  Mrs.  Winthrop  are  the 
very  best  friends  I  ever  had.  I  hope  that 
some  day  I  can  make  you  both  as  happy  as 
you  have  made  me !  " 

As  she  flew  out  of  the  room  Sylvestre 
looked  after  her  thoughtfully. 

"  She's  more  like  a  cyclone  than  a 
woman.  She's  a  nice  little  thing,  but  I 
wouldn't  live  in  the  same  house  with  her 
for  a  fortune.  She  lacks  continuity." 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    FORTUNE  -  TELLER'S    BOOTH 

ON  the  night  of  the  bazar,  all  Denver 
made  it  a  point  to  go.    Some  went 
because  they  were  friends  of  Mrs. 
Lowe  and  her  committee;    others  because 
they  wanted  to  see  the  Marstons'   house; 
others   because  there  was   nothing  else  in 
town  to  go  to.     A  few  went  because  they 
were  interested  in  the  hospital.    Fortunately 
an  admittance  fee  was  charged,  so  that  the 
hospital   profited   by   all  these  motives. 

As  is  usual  with  bazars,  some  old  feuds 
were  healed  and  some  new  jealousies  be- 
gun. Charity  is  a  large  word.  It  excuses 
everything.  Women  do  things  under  its 
broad  name  which  no  other  power  could 
excuse  them  for  doing.  They  make  conces- 
sions or  go  to  extremes,  always  protected 
by  its  elastic  mantle.  It  seems  to  be  a  cap- 
8? 


88     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

ital  way  for  compressed  natures  to  let  off 
steam. 

But  no  one  could  deny  that  this  bazar 
was  a  success.  Marston  had  cause  to  be 
proud  of  himself.  He  strolled  through  the 
brilliantly  lighted  rooms,  heavy  with  the 
fragrance  of  costly  flowers  and  murmuring 
with  the  silken  rustle  of  women's  robes, 
self-satisfied  and  complacent  as  he  never 
had  been  before.  Only  once  was  his  seren- 
ity disturbed.  His  hands  were  behind  his 
back  and  his  head  thrust  forward  on  his 
chest,  when  on  a  long  rug  which  lay 
through  a  narrow  corridor  he  met  Jed 
Brown  walking  in  the  same  manner,  with 
his  hands  behind  him  and  his  chin  resting 
on  his  shirt-front. 

Both  men  looked  at  each  other  and  in- 
voluntarily backed  off  the  rug  as  if  they  had 
stepped  on  a  snake.  They  walked  around 
it  with  their  little  red  eyes  on  each  other 
like  two  bulldogs.  Neither  spoke.  For 
the  first  time  a  dirty  trick  had  caused  a  cool- 
ness between  them.  Marston  vaguely  won- 
dered why.  He  had  played  so  many  other 
and  dirtier  tricks  on  Jed  Brown  without 


yThe  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    89 

his  getting  mad,  it  seemed  queer  to  see  the 
old  man  angry  at  this  one. 

In  the  flower  booth,  radiant  in  pink  silk, 
with  a  string  of  pearls  around  her  neck, 
with  her  shining  hair  piled  high  on  her 
head  and  pushed  forward  in  the  prevailing 
fashion,  Patricia  sold  blossoms  at  fabulous 
prices.  She  was  becoming  undeniably  pop- 
ular. She  was  being  approved  of  by  her 
small  world,  and  the  success  of  it  flushed 
her  cheeks  and  shone  starry  in  her  eyes. 
Cornelia,  brilliant  in  dead  black,  which  set 
off  the  radiance  of  her  glorious  red  hair, 
occasionally  approached  and  whispered 
some  private  information  about  some  one 
into  Patricia's  ear. 

Then  when  the  flowers  were  all  sold  out, 
as  care  had  been  taken  that  they  should 
be  early,  Patricia  mingled  with  the  crowd 
for  half  an  hour  and  suddenly  disappeared. 

Soon  afterward  a  gipsy  hag,  with  black 
hair  braided  in  small  braids  tightly  all  over 
her  head,  with  swarthy  skin  and  darkened 
teeth,  clad  in  red  calico,  with  coins  in  her 
ears  and  dangling  from  her  breast  and  in 
her  hair,  with  her  slim  brown  hands  cov- 
ered with  curious  cheap  silver  rings, 


9° 


The  Interference  of  Patricia 


squatted  on  a  divan  between  two  heavy 
red  curtains,  while  dull  blue  flames  from 
antique  lamps  threw  a  weird  light  upon  her, 
distorting  her  features  and  adding  mystery 
to  the  scene. 

Gently  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  she 
shuffled  and  dealt  the  cards,  not  even  rais- 
ing her  eyes  when  the  curious  parted  the 
curtains  and  paused  to  gaze  upon  her.  She 
sang  softly  to  herself  a  wild,  unrhythmic 
song  with  wholly  unintelligible  words. 

A  young  man  entered  and  asked  her  to 
tell  his  fortune.  He  was  impertinent  and 
inclined  to  take  liberties.  The  gipsy  told 
his  fortune,  and  he  left  her  booth,  pale  and 
trembling,  nor  would  he  tell  what  she  had 
said. 

A  school  friend  came  next,  a  girl  who 
had  done  Patricia  a  great  wrong.  The 
gipsy  told  her  fortune  and  the  girl  left 
the  booth  in  tears. 

Others  followed.  Some  were  pleased 
and  laughed,  albeit  somewhat  nervously. 
Others  were  plainly  frightened. 

Suddenly,  to  Patricia's  horror,  her  father 
entered. 

"What  fool  nonsense  is  this?    My  good 


*The   Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    91 

woman,  this  is  a  private  house.  Don't  you 
know  I  can't  have  a  professional  here? 
Come,  you  must  go  away.  You  are  fright- 
ening people  with  your  lies ! " 

"If  I  tell  you  true,  may  I  stay?  I  no 
tell  you  lies.  Show  me  your  hand !  " 

"  I'll  not  show  you  my  hand.  Yours  are 
dirty.  You  may  be  bringing  contagion 
into  my  house.  Be  off  with  you." 

For  reply  Patricia  gazed  at  him  strangely, 
and  an  expression  of  horror  grew  on  her 
face. 

"  Danger !  "  she  whispered.  "  Great 
danger  is  on  your  head.  I  see  it  in  the 
air.  You  must  be  warned.  Perhaps  I  can 
save  you ! " 

The  old  man  wavered  for  a  moment,  but 
she  seized  his  hand  and  looked  at  it  intently. 

"  Go  away !  "  she  said,  pushing  it  from 
her.  "  You  are  in  wild  danger.  Enemies 
are  on  your  trail,  but  it  is  written  that  there 
is  no  escape.  Go.  I  can  tell  you  no  more. 
Yours  is  a  bad  hand/' 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  hand?" 
asked  G.  W.,  with  some  show  of  nervous- 
ness. 


92     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  It  has  done  evil  deeds.  But  the  end  is 
near.  Vengeance  is  on  the  way." 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  hag?"  In 
spite  of  himself  G.  W.  was  superstitious, 
and  he  was  too  much  of  a  gambler  by  na- 
ture not  to  believe  in  omens.  "  Tell  me 
what  you  see,  but  if  you  lie  to  me,  I'll  throw 
you  out  of  the  house  with  those  same  bad 
hands  of  mine." 

Patricia  grinned,  disclosing  darkened 
teeth. 

"  Pay,"  she  said. 

G.  W.  handed  her  a  silver  dollar.  She 
flung  it  back  at  him. 

"  Pay  five  of  those  —  ten  for  what  I 
have  to  say !  "  she  said,  contemptuously. 

"  Well,  you've  got  your  nerve  with  you !  " 
he  said.  "  You  make  me  pay  ten  dollars 
to  hear  bad  news.  And  in  my  own  house, 
too!" 

"This  your  house?"  said  the  gipsy, 
eagerly,  as  she  took  the  money.  "  It  will 
not  be  yours  long.  You  will  lose  it.  You 
will  lose  your  money.  You  will  lose  your 
friends.  There  are  two  tracks  —  shining 
tracks  of  steel  —  which  are  leading  you 
down,  down  to  destruction.  A  great  gulf 


The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    93 

lies  at  the  end.  You  have  planned  to  push 
others  down  this  track.  It  is  written  that 
you  finish  there  yourself  instead." 

The  gipsy  paused.  G.  W.'s  face  was 
beaded  in  sweat.  To  tell  the  truth,  although 
everything  looked  safe,  he  never  had  felt 
sure  that  this  deal  would  go  through. 
Never  before  had  he  possessed  so  little 
power  over  the  right  men.  Never  had  he 
been  so  nearly  in  the  power  of  those  who 
could  ruin  him  by  a  false  move. 

"Do  you  see  any  more?"  he  asked, 
hoarsely. 

"  Yes ;  two  men.  One  light,  with  blue 
eyes  and  red  in  his  cheeks.  He  is  not  of 
this  land.  The  other,  heavier,  darker, 
older,  your  bitter  enemy.  They  stand  on 
the  bank  and  watch  you  sinking  into  the 
black  water.  They  laugh,  for  it  is  what  you 
planned  for  them !  " 

"  Jed  and  Abernethy ! "  burst  uncon- 
sciously from  G.  W.'s  pale  lips. 

He  made  an  effort  to  pull  himself  to- 
gether. He  did  not  wholly  believe  in  the 
gipsy,  yet  her  prophecy  was  disquieting. 

"  Is  there  no  way  out  ?  "  he  demanded. 


94     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

Patricia  consulted  the  cards.  Marston 
watched  her  impatiently. 

"  Stop  that  damned  fooling !  "  he  cried. 
"  You  don't  see  anything  in  a  pack  of  cards. 
You  get  it  somewhere  else.  Look  in  my 
hand  —  look  over  my  head.  Tell  me  what 
you  see." 

But  Patricia  was  at  her  wit's  end.  She 
took  refuge  in  sullenness. 

"  You  no  believe  in  my  cards.  My  eyes 
grow  blind  to  you.  I  see  no  more.  Go 
away." 

"  I'm  sorry  —  I  didn't  mean  it,"  said 
Marston.  "  If  I  come  back  again  —  if  I 
pay  you  well,  will  you  try  again?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Patricia.  "  Come  again 
in  two  hours.  Perhaps  the  light  will  shine 
again.  In  two  hours." 

Marston  went  out  and  made  her  famous. 
He  told  everybody  that  she  told  the 
damnedest  things  he  ever  heard  in  his  life. 
The  curious,  easily  excited  (on  account  of 
the  altitude)  flocked  to  the  fortune-teller's 
booth.  Marston  accidentally  made  quite  a 
sum  of  money  for  the  hospital. 

In  the  meantime  Cornelia  had  not  been 


*The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    95 

idle.  She  adroitly  steered  those  Patricia 
wanted  to  see  toward  the  gipsy  booth. 

Jimmie  Cheroot  went  in,  and  came  out 
clenching  and  unclenching  his  hands.  The 
gipsy  told  him  that  he  had  tried  to  take 
money  from  those  who  sold  and  from  those 
who  bought,  and  that  he  would  make  from 
neither. 

"  It's  all  rot !  "  he  said  to  himself,  fiercely. 
He  did  not  believe  in  her.  Nevertheless, 
he  went  into  the  smoking-room  and  smoked 
violently  for  an  hour.  Then  he  resolved  on 
a  desperate  move.  He  hunted  up  Jed 
Brown. 

"  Say,  Jed,  you  are  feeling  pretty  sore 
about  G.  W.'s  taking  up  his  option  on  your 
stock,  aren't  you?" 

"  Should  say  I  was,"  growled  Jed. 
"  Damned,  dirty,  low,  Irish  trick.  But 
just  like  G.  W.  He  got  that  option  of  me 
when  the  trolley  stock  was  only  seventy- 
two.  One  twenty-five  looked  like  the  mil- 
lennium then.  Well,  what  about  it?  What 
are  you  grinning  like  a  sick  cat  for  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Only  there's  a  gipsy  —  a 
professional  —  up-stairs  who  as  good  as 
told  me  that  the  trolley  deal  was  not  going 


96     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

through.  I  thought  maybe  you  would  like 
to  try  your  luck  and  see  if  she  tells  you 
anything." 

"A  gipsy?  Oh,  hell!  I  don't  believe 
in  'em." 

"All  right." 

"  Hold  on !  Where  is  she  and  what  does 
she  charge?  " 

"  She  charges  five  dollars.  Come  along. 
I'll  show  you." 

He  led  the  way,  and  Jed  went  in  and 
showed  his  palm. 

"  There  is  some  one  you  trust  without 
who  listens.  He  is  not  true  to  you.  Look 
quickly !  "  whispered  Patricia. 

Jed  jumped  to  the  door,  and  in  doing  so 
nearly  knocked  Jimmie  Cheroot  down. 

"  Get  out,  Jimmie.  Don't  listen.  She 
was  on  to  you." 

The  old  man  came  back,  smiling  and 
walking  as  usual  with  one  hand  in  his 
trousers  pocket. 

"It's  all  right.  He  didn't  mean  any 
harm.  He  only  wanted  to  hear  what  you 
said  to  me  for  fun,"  he  said. 

"  He  wanted  to  hear  what  I  said  to  you 


'  The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    97 

for  evil,"  crooned  the  gipsy.  "  Beware  of 
him!" 

"Nonsense!"  said  Brown. 

"  No !  "  cried  the  gipsy,  in  sudden,  Rom- 
any anger.  She  lifted  her  hand  and  pointed 
her  finger  menacingly.  "  Not  nonsense ! 
The  gipsy  sees  true.  His  hand  is  there, 
as  yours  is,  in  your  pocket." 

Jed  stared  in  a  bewildered  way  at  his 
pocket. 

"  His  hand  is  there,  in  your  pocket ! " 
she  repeated.  "  And  in  the  air  above  your 
head  I  see  in  figures  of  fire  one  and  two 
and  five.  You  have  lost  money  by  him  with 
one  twenty-five.  Ah,  ha!  You  start! 
The  gipsy  knows!  The  gipsy  sees!  The 
gipsy  tells !  " 

Jed  gnawed  his  fingers  furiously. 

"  It  would  be  just  like  the  little  devil," 
he  muttered. 

"  See !  "  cried  the  gipsy.  "  I  have  a  great 
fortune  for  you.  It  is  worth  much  more 
than  five  of  those  beautiful  silver  pieces. 
It  is  worth  ten  —  twenty  —  one  hundred !  " 

''  You  won't  get  another  cent!  "  growled 
Jed. 

"But  see,"  wheedled  the  gipsy.     "If  I 


98     The  Interference  of  Patricia 

read  revenge  in  your  heart,  and  show  you 
how  to  get  vengeance  on  the  old  man  who 
has  robbed  you  by  aid  of  the  young  man, 
will  you  give  me  more?  " 

Jed  snorted  with  passion. 

"  Yes !  "  he  shouted.  "  Show  me  how 
and  I'll  give  you  this !  " 

He  dragged  a  thick  roll  of  bills  from 
his  pocket,  and  the  gipsy's  eyes  gleamed 
to  see  the  figures  on  the  outside  bill. 

Truly  Patricia  knew  the  gipsy  nature. 

She  shuffled  the  cards,  but  her  breath 
came  short.  She  was  tremendously  excited. 

"  Money !     Money !  "  she  muttered. 

"For  me?"  asked  Jed. 

The  hag  nodded  and  all  her  coins  jingled. 
The  lamps  burned  blue,  and  the  old  man 
watched  her  feverishly. 

"  Treachery  from  a  friend  —  an  old 
man,"  she  said.  "  You  have  been  good 
to  him,  but  he  repays  it  not.  He  robs  you 
for  his  own  gain,  but  the  stars  say  no.  His 
plan  goes  wrong.  There  is  a  tall  man  of 
another  nation,  with  a  strap  of  leather  on 
his  wrist.  It  tells  him  the  hour.  In  two 
days  from  now  he  expects  to  pay  the  money 
of  his  friends  to  the  old  man,  your  enemy. 


'The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    99 

But  at  the  last  moment  something  happens. 
He  does  not  buy.  I  see  you  and  him  to- 
gether and  between  you  much,  much  money. 
You  go  to  him  and  he  gives  you  vengeance." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Jed  nodded.     He  was  beyond  speech. 

The  gipsy  peered  at  him. 

"  You  do  not  understand ! "  she  cried. 
"  Ask  me  questions.  I  will  answer." 

"  I  understand  some  of  it.  But  how  does 
Aber —  the  man  with  the  leather  strap  on 
his  wrist  give  me  vengeance?" 

The  gipsy  shook  her  head  and  shuffled 
the  cards  again. 

"  There  is  a  woman  with  red  hair. 
There  is  a  tall,  dark  man.  They  do  not 
live  here.  They  come  from  far  to  sell  — 
to  sell  gold,  but  the  gold  is  in  the  ground. 
The  man  with  the  leather  strap  on  his 
wrist  buys.  He  comes  to  you  and  says, 
'  Carry  my  gold  for  me  on  your  steel  rails. 
I  do  not  buy  of  the  other  old  man.  I  buy 
of  you  and  her  and  him.' ' 

"  By  Jove !  By  the  Lord  Harry !  Here, 
woman!  You  may  be  the  damnedest  liar 
on  the  top  of  God's  footstool,  but  you've 


loo  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

given  me  an  idea  which  will  make  me  mil- 
lions. Here,  take  the  money,  you've  earned 
it.  Lemme  out  of  here." 

"  Wait !  "  cried  the  gipsy.  "  You  must 
dream  three  nights  over  what  I  have  told. 
If  you  speak  to-night  it  will  not  come  true." 

"  Three  nights !  "  stammered  Jed.  "  Gee ! 
I  can  scarcely  wait  to  get  hold  of  my  man." 

"  Three  nights  must  you  dream  over  it, 
with  this  charm  held  in  your  hand  while  you 
fall  asleep."  She  detached  a  coin  from  her 
neck.  "  In  the  morning  mark  well  where 
the  coin  lies,  for  so  will  your  plans  go  — 
now  up,  now  down,  but  always,  if  you  obey 
me,  will  they  come  true ! " 

The  old  man  was  furiously  impatient, 
but  Patricia  knew  enough  of  the  gambler's 
nature,  the  superstitious  side  of  those  who 
deal  in  stocks  and  all  ventures  which  de- 
pend upon  fluctuations  of  the  market,  to 
know  that  even  sailors  are  not  more  de- 
pendent on  signs  of  good  and  bad  luck. 
Her  father  never  rode  on  a  ticket  numbered 
thirteen;  nor  started  anywhere  on  Friday; 
nor  opened  an  umbrella  in  the  house;  nor 
walked  under  a  ladder.  And  on  any  large 


The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth     101 

venture  he  always  consulted  a  fortune- 
teller. 

Patricia  knew,  therefore,  that  Jed  would 
not  dare  to  speak  before  the  three  days  were 
up.  On  the  second,  the  money  was  to  be 
paid  over  by  Abernethy  for  the  syndicate 
for  the  purchase  of  the  trolley. 

As  Jed  came  out  of  the  thick,  hot  atmos- 
phere of  the  gipsy's  booth,  a  wave  of  reason 
and  common  sense  swept  over  him. 

"  What  an  old  fool  I  am  to  believe  her !  " 
he  muttered  in  the  depths  of  his  ragged 
beard.  "  But  then,  how  in  hell  does  she 
know  so  much?  And  suppose  Abernethy 
does  hear  of  the  conduit?  Suppose  —  by 
Jove!  Suppose  she  tells  him!  She  won't 
let  me  speak  to  him  for  three  days,  but  I'm 
damned  if  I  don't  watch  to  see  his  face 
when  he  comes  out  of  there !  " 

G.  W.  also  hung  around  the  booth  watch- 
ing those  who  came  out.  He  and  Jed 
avoided  each  other's  eye. 

Sir  Wemyss  Lombard,  who  heartily  dis- 
believed, but  only  went  because  Cornelia 
made  a  point  of  it  on  behalf  of  the  hospital, 
returned  dragging  at  his  moustache.  Mars- 
ton  approached  him: 


IO2  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  Well,  what  did  she  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  Most  extraordinary,"  muttered  Sir 
Wemyss.  "  She  told  me  about  my  fiancee, 
Lady  Mary  Goddard,  and  I've  never  men- 
tioned her  to  a  soul  but  Mrs.  Winthrop." 

"  Your  fiancee !  "  exclaimed  G.  W.  "  Are 
you  engaged,  then  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly.  Ever  since  last  week. 
She's  a  ripping  girl.  Rides  as  well  as  your 
daughter.  Beautiful  figger,  too." 

G.  W.  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  forehead.  Then  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  walked  away  without  speaking. 
His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his  back 
and  his  head  bent  forward.  The  English- 
man screwed  his  glass  into  his  eye  and 
watched  him. 

"  Most  extraordinary  man,"  he  muttered, 
"  not  to  congratulate  a  chap  when  he  says 
he's  engaged!  Nor  even  to  offer  him  a 
drink.  Deuced  queer,  I  must  say !  " 

Cornelia  parted  the  curtains  behind  Pa- 
tricia and  whispered: 

"  What  shall  I  do?  Abernethy  swears 
he  won't  come.  He  says  it's  such  awful  rot. 
He's  been  asking  for  you." 

"Tell  him  I've  had  mine  told,  and  the 


Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    103 


gipsy  told  me  about  the  man  who  loves  me 
best.  Tell  him  I  begged  him  just  for  fun 
to  have  his  told  and  see  if  she  can  describe 
his  sweetheart.  If  he  asks  about  me  any 
more,  tell  him  I'm  having  a  rent  sewed  up 
in  my  dress  (that's  the  truth),  and  that  I'll 
be  down  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"  I'll  try  it,"  whispered  Cornelia. 

"  But  make  him  hurry,  for  father  is  to 
come  back  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  must  be 
gone  before  he  comes.  Here,  take  all  this 
money.  I  may  have  to  fly." 

When,  a  few  moments  later,  the  curtains 
at  the  entrance  were  parted,  and  Lord  Aber- 
nethy  entered,  Patricia  felt  that  her  time 
had  come.  She  trembled  in  every  limb. 
All  her  former  insouciance  was  gone.  She 
feared  discovery.  She  feared  to  sink  in 
his  esteem.  For  one  wild  moment  the  im- 
pulse was  upon  her  to  turn  and  flee.  But 
as  she  shuffled  the  cards  and  rocked  and 
crooned,  she  saw  that  he  was  not  in  the 
least  suspicious,  and  her  courage  returned. 
This  was  her  supreme  hour.  This  was 
what  she  had  planned  and  agonized  to  do. 
This  moment,  as  far  as  Patricia  Marston 


IO4  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

was  concerned,  was  the  reason  for  the  whole 
bazar. 

She  would  not  touch  his  hand  with  hers 
for  fear  of  their  trembling.  She  traced  the 
lines  in  his  palm  with  a  curious  old  stylus 
with  a  turquoise  in  the  handle. 

"Why  do  you  sigh,  good  mother?" 
asked  Abernethy.  He  knew  the  gipsy 
formulas,  from  Henley  week  and  the  races 
at  Goodwood  and  Epsom  Downs.  He  had 
talked  to  scores  of  them. 

"  Because  there  is  so  much  to  see  and  so 
much  to  tell,"  murmured  Patricia. 

Abernethy  smiled  and  handed  her  a  gold 
piece. 

Involuntarily  Patricia  drew  back.  Aber- 
nethy looked  surprised,  and  for  a  moment 
the  situation  trembled  in  the  balance.  Then 
she  recovered  herself. 

"  Thank  you,  my  pretty  gentleman,"  she 
said.  "  You  will  have  a  rich  wife.  She  will 
bring  you  many  such." 

The  gipsy's  eyes  looked  keenly  into  his. 

"  That  gives  me  no  pleasure,  goodwife," 
he  said.  "Tell  me  if  I  shall  win  her. 
What  is  she  like?" 


*The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth     105 

It  seemed  to  Abernethy  that  the  gipsy's 
lips  trembled. 

"  Her  face  is  fair  enough,  but  to  a  gen- 
tleman like  yourself,  it  will  be  welcome  to 
know  that  she  loves  you  rarely,  —  that  she 
would  do  anything  to  save  you  from  the 
danger  which  threatens." 

"  Am  I  in  any  danger  ?  "  said  Abernethy, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Your  greatest  danger,  pretty  gentle- 
man, is  from  thinking  too  well  of  yourself." 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  said  the  English- 
man, stroking  his  moustache. 

"  The  gipsy  wastes  no  more  fine  words 
with  you.  Believe,  or  I  tell  no  more." 

"  I  believe  you !  Go  on,  my  good 
woman." 

"  You  are  not  of  this  land.  You  do  not 
know  the  men  here,  nor  their  ways.  Once 
you  have  been  warned,  but  you  laughed. 
To-night  the  gipsy  warns  you  again.  You 
mock.  In  two  days  more  it  will  be  too 
late." 

A  gleam  of  interest  came  into  the  Eng- 
lishman's bored  face. 

"  In  two  days  more.  What  will  happen 
then?" 


io6  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  You  are  to  pay  much  money  to  the  old 
man  —  the  old  man  who  owns  all  this ;  but 
if  you  do,  you  are  lost.  Disgrace  waits  for 
you  at  home.  Dishonour  here.  No  more 
will  men  trust  you  with  their  money,  for 
the  money  you  are  to  pay  is  not  yours." 

Abernethy  started  and  looked  keenly  at 
Patricia.  But  the  fever  and  excitement  of 
it  were  in  her  blood  and  she  gave  no  heed. 
She  waved  her  hand  at  him  for  silence,  and 
he  motioned  her  to  proceed. 

"  I  see  two  long,  shining  rails.  Things 
whiz  by  on  them.  Sparks  fly  overhead. 
Bells  clang.  Women  scream.  Danger 
lurks  in  them.  But  not  to  you.  Your 
danger  lies  in  the  long,  cold  grave  beneath. 
The  power  to  make  cars  fly  once  lay  there. 
It  is  forgotten  now.  But  when  you  have 
paid  the  money  —  the  money  of  your 
friends  —  it  will  be  remembered.  Mark  well 
the  gipsy's  words.  It  will  be  remembered ! 
For  it  should  not  be  there !  " 

In  spite  of  himself,  against  his  strong 
will  and  bulldog  determination  not  to  be 
taken  in,  Abernethy  dared  not  interrupt. 
Drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  brow. 
Patricia  saw  them. 


The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    107 

"  There  is  no  money  there  —  for  any 
man.  The  old  man  knows  this.  He  sends 
to  you,  who  are  a  stranger,  a  young  man, 
light  of  skin  and  glib  of  tongue.  He  makes 
you  feel  that  he  has  brought  a  fortune  to 
you.  Do  not  trust  him.  He  was  sent  by 
the  old  man !  " 

Abernethy  let  out  just  one  word  —  a  bad 
one. 

"  Together  they  plan  your  ruin.  All 
their  words  are  idle.  You  buy,  but  you  can 
never  sell.  The  old  man  lays  a  trap.  He 
puts  it  before  men's  eyes.  They  read  it 
in  large  letters.  It  is  all  a  lie,  a  lie  cun- 
ningly planned,  by  an  old  man  in  the  moun- 
tains and  an  old  man  by  the  sea." 

"  No  railroad !  "  exclaimed  Abernethy, 
involuntarily.  Then  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether and  smiled.  The  gipsy  was  dramatic, 
but  he  was  not  going  to  be  flimflammed  — 
not.  he! 

"  The  gipsy  speaks  true.  But  listen. 
There  is  more.  Three  days  from  now  an 
old  man  will  come  to  you  and  tell  you  of 
gold  in  the  ground.  It  is  there.  Buy.  For 
your  friends.  For  yourself.  Honour  and 
riches  are  in  the  ground.  A  woman  with 


io8  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

red  hair,  the  colour  of  the  sun  god  when 
he  sets,  owns  it.  She  will  tell  you  true. 
The  young  man  will  build  machinery  and 
dig  out  the  gold.  The  old  man  will  carry 
it  on  his  steel  rails.  But  pay  no  money  in 
two  days.  It  is  Friday  and  the  thirteenth." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Abernethy  felt  a 
quiver  of  fear. 

"  How  can  I  prove  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tell  my  words  to  the  dark  young  man, 
the  lover  of  the  woman  with  the  gold  hair. 
His  business  is  to  dig  and  measure.  He 
will  prove  it  to  you." 

The  gipsy  dropped  her  face  forward  in 
her  hands. 

"  Go,"  she  muttered.    "  I  see  no  more." 

She  was  rocking  herself  to  and  fro. 
Abernethy  rose  and  tossed  an  additional 
coin  into  her  lap. 

"  Stop !  "  she  whispered.  "  The  old  man 
waits  to  see  your  face  and  to  question  you. 
Avoid  him.  Go  out  this  door.  Do  not 
talk  to  him  to-night.  A  girl  in  pink  is 
waiting  for  you  down-stairs  by  an  open 
door  between  two  windows.  Seek  her." 

Abernethy,  who  was  in  no  mood  to  see 
Marston  or  Jed,  obeyed  the  gipsy  and 


• 


The  Fortune  -  Teller's  Booth    109 

pushed  through  the  curtains  behind  her. 
Patricia  listened  until  his  footsteps  died 
away,  then  sprang  up  and  followed  him, 
intending  to  gain  her  own  room.  But  at 
the  door  she  found  herself  gripped  by  two 
strong  hands.  With  a  repressed  scream 
she  looked  up  to  see  Abernethy's  stern  blue 
eyes  on  her  face. 

"  You  are  no  gipsy,  woman,"  he  said, 
sternly.  "  Who  are  you,  to  know  the  se- 
crets of  every  man  in  this  manner?  Tell 
me  your  name,  or  I  will  call  the  mistress 
of  this  house." 

"  It  is  true  that  I  am  no  gipsy,"  said 
Patricia.  "  But  I  know  these  things,  and 
I  have  warned  you  out  of  friendship.  If 
you  are  a  gentleman,  you  will  release  me." 

Abernethy  released  her  and  stepped  back. 
Patricia  flew,  rather  than  ran,  and  when 
he  came  through  the  drawing-rooms, 
twenty  minutes  later,  Patricia,  in  pink, 
was  waiting  for  him  beside  an  open  door 
between  two  windows. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

AT  THE  DENVER  CLUB 

LATER  that  night  at  the  Denver  Club 
little  was  discussed  except  the  bril- 
liance of  Mrs.  Lowe's  bazar,  and 
the  skill  of  the  fortune-teller.  Some  con- 
tended that  she  was  a  lady,  made  up  as  a 
gipsy,  others  that  she  was  a  professional. 

"  You  needn't  tell  me,"  said  Jed  Brown. 
"  She  was  a  regular  gipsy  with  the  best  gift 
of  second  sight  I  ever  saw.  I've  tried  'em 
all.  I've  been  to  that  famous  one  in  Louis- 
ville—  I  went  down  from  New  York  on 
purpose.  I've  been  to  all  those  mediums 
in  Chicago  —  over  on  the  West  Side.  I've 
been  to  the  best  ones  everywhere,  and  I 
tell  you  this  one  lays  over  every  other  one 
I  ever  saw.  You  can  make  all  the  fun  you 
want,  but  you'll  see  old  Jed  Brown  follow- 
ing her  advice  to  beat  the  band." 

Abernethy  and  Sylvestre  looked  at  each 
no 


At  the  Denver   Club  ill 

other.  They  hated  to  admit  that  they  put 
any  faith  in  her  words.  Finally  Sylvestre 
strolled  away  and  Abernethy  followed. 

"  Did  you  go  to  her?  "  asked  the  English- 
man. 

Sylvestre  shook  his  head. 

Abernethy  removed  his  cigar  and  looked 
at  it  critically. 

"  She  was  no  gipsy,"  he  said,  tentatively. 

Again  Sylvestre  said  nothing.  Without 
understanding  human  nature  in  the  least, 
Sylvestre  often  stumbled  on  the  best  way  to 
handle  different  people,  as  in  this  instance, 
where  a  confidence  from  Sylvestre,  like  that 
they  had  just  listened  to  from  Jed  Brown, 
would  have  made  the  Englishman  hesitate 
to  own  himself  similarly  moved.  With 
Cornelia,  Sylvestre  succeeded  because  he 
was  honest,  and  clean,  and  good.  And  as 
to  his  being  a  trifle  stupid,  a  clever  woman 
rather  likes  it  in  a  man.  It  not  only  shows 
off  her  own  wit,  but  is  sometimes  as  sooth- 
ing and  comfortably  companionable  as  to 
own  a  big  Newfoundland  dog. 

After  a  second  silence  Abernethy  squared 
himself  as  if  to  take  the  plunge  and  said : 

"  After  due  deliberation,  however,  gipsy 


112   The   Interference  of  Patricia 

or  no,  I  have  decided  to  follow  her  advice, 
for  she  is  a  clever  woman,  a  deucedly  clever 
woman,  whoever  she  is." 

Sylvestre  showed  no  surprise.  He  simply 
went  on  smoking.  He  possessed  the  power 
of  remaining  absolutely  quiet,  —  a  rare  gift 
in  an  American,  and  Abernethy  loved  him 
for  it.  The  conversational  and  physical 
agility  of  most  American  men  bored  the 
Englishman  to  extinction.  For  example, 
after  a  heavy  dinner  he  wished  to  remain 
inert;  to  stagnate;  to  hibernate,  so  to 
speak.  He  wouldn't  have  moved  even  for 
Patricia,  and  yet  "  some  damn  fool "  was 
for  ever  suggesting  billiards  or  pool!  Just 
after  dinner!  Fancy! 

"  She  told  me,"  went  on  Abernethy,  hop- 
ing to  take  a  rise  out  of  the  quiet  American, 
"  to  consult  you." 

Not  a  muscle  in  Bob  Sylvestre's  face 
moved.  Abernethy  knocked  the  ashes  from 
his  cigar  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  I  would  like  to  engage  you,  in  behalf 
of  the  syndicate  which  I  have  the  honour 
to  represent  —  " 

"  No  one  but  an  Englishman  would  say 
that,"  thought  the  American. 


At  the  Denver   Club          113 

"  To  investigate  that  trolley.  I  ought 
to  have  done  it  before,  for  now  the  time 
is  short.  Investigate  particularly  what  is 
beneath  it.  I  know  that  it  was  once  a  cable 
system,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  the 
conduit  is  still  there.  If  it  is,  ascertain  if 
there  is  any  danger  of  our  being  compelled 
to  remove  it.  Will  you  do  this  for  me?" 

"  I  can  do  it  without  leaving  this  room. 
Marston  has  bought  Jed  Brown  out,  and  I 
hear  that  he  is  sore  over  it.  If  there  is 
anything  crooked  about  the  deal  to  give 
away,  Jed  is  my  man.  Wait  for  me  here." 

Jed  had  been  watching  the  conference  of 
these  two  out  of  the  corner  of  his  little  red- 
brown  eyes.  He  grinned  as  Sylvestre  ap- 
proached him.  But  it  was  not  a  pleasant 
grin.  It  suggested  the  grin  of  the  tiger  as 
he  saw  his  prey  approaching,  only,  in  this 
instance,  in  Sylvestre  Jed  saw  the  man  who 
would  help  him  to  catch  and  devour  his 
prey. 

Jed  had  been  brooding  over  the  perfidy 
of  Marston  and  Cheroot,  and  consuming  a 
beverage  which  assisted  him  in  the  process 
of  stirring  himself  up.  But  he  was  no- 
body's fool,  and  he  proposed  to  irritate  Syl- 


114  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

vestre  until  there  would  be  two  on  Marston's 
trail  instead  of  one.  It  would  only  assist 
in  the  final  project  the  fortune-teller  had 
outlined  to  him,  anyway.  If  Jed  helped 
Sylvestre,  Sylvestre  would  be  in  a  frame 
of  mind  to  assist  Jed. 

"  Let's  have  a  drink,"  suggested  Syl- 
vestre when  they  had  shaken  hands. 

Jed  nodded  with  alacrity. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  if 
you  don't  mind,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I 
understand  that  you  have  sold  your  trolley 
stock." 

"  Under  compulsion,"  growled  Jed. 

'  Then  you  would  have  liked  to  keep  it. 
You  think  it  is  a  good  thing?  " 

"  At  present,  yes.  It  is  a  snap.  In  two 
months  from  now  it  will  be  a  gold  brick !  " 

"How's  that?" 

"  City  council  are  going  to  make  an  elec- 
tion issue  of  the  company's  refusal  to  take 
up  the  cable  conduit,  and  will  compel  the 
English  syndicate  to  do  it." 

"  Why  is  everybody  keeping  so  quiet 
about  it?  Abernethy  has  heard  nothing." 

"  Kind  of  fun  to  do  John  Bull.     These 


At  the  Denver  Club          115 

Britishers  think  they  are  so  infernally 
smart." 

"  But  do  you  think  it  is  a  square  deal  ?  " 
asked  Sylvestre. 

"  It's  as  fair  treatment  as  we  would  get 
from  them  if  we  went  to  London  with  a 
proposition  to  buy  anything  —  besides  hav- 
ing to  wait  thirty  years  while  all  the  dif- 
ferent directors  were  gathered  up  from 
Scotland  and  France  and  Egypt  for  a  con- 
ference. I  wore  a  path  in  the  floor  of  the 
Cecil  Hotel  once,  charging  up  and  down 
while  waiting  for  a  directors'  meeting  in 
London.  And  I  had  cabled  them  a  month 
beforehand  that  I'd  be  there  on  a  certain 
day.  I  never  was  so  mad  in  my  life.  Good 
chance  to  get  even  with  the  whole  blamed 
island  in  a  deal  like  this." 

"  You  won't  get  even  with  them  this 
time,"  said  Sylvestre. 

"Why  not?"  cried  Jed,  with  a  start. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  the  gipsy's  words 
were  coming  true  already? 

"  Because  the  English  syndicate  is  not 
going  to  buy  the  trolley.  I  have  been  en- 
gaged by  their  representative,  Lord  Aber- 


Il6  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

nethy,  to  examine  into  it,  and  I  shall  tell 
them  what  you  have  just  told  me." 

The  old  man's  eyes  were  snapping  with 
eagerness.  He  reached  across  the  table  and 
seized  Sylvestre's  arm. 

"  What  will  they  buy  instead  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  I  don't  know.  Here's  a  coin  you  just 
dropped." 

Jed  took  the  gipsy's  coin  with  trembling 
fingers.  Already  he  had  forgotten  her  in- 
junction not  to  speak  of  the  new  project  for 
three  days.  He  pulled  himself  up  with 
nervous  fear.  He  must  be  cautious,  but 
to  listen  was  not  the  same  as  to  broach,  he 
reflected.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  young 
man  opposite  with  ill-concealed  eagerness. 

"  Now  one  thing  more,"  said  Sylvestre. 
"  I  think  this  business  of  Marston's  owning 
the  town  has  gone  far  enough.  Why  don't 
you  cut  the  ground  from  under  him  ?  Who 
are  these  people  he  owns,  body  and  soul? 
If  he  can  buy  them,  you  can  release  them. 
Let's  have  free  speech  and  fair  play." 

Old  Jed  Brown  grinned.  His  shrewd  old 
face  looked  positively  queer  above  his  Paris- 
made  shirt,  his  London  evening  clothes,  and 


At  the  Denver  Club          117 

the  lilies  in  his  buttonhole.  The  cigarette 
between  his  fingers  completed  the  carica- 
ture. If  he  had  worn  jeans  or  overalls  and 
a  slouch  hat,  if  his  cigarette  had  turned 
into  a  short,  black  pipe,  and  if  a  yellow  dog 
had  cringed  at  his  heels,  these  accessories 
would  have  matched  his  weather-beaten 
face  and  his  little  weasel  eyes. 

The  grin  with  which  he  greeted  Sylves- 
tre's  words  was  irresistibly  satirical.  It 
was  about  as  incongruous  a  suggestion  as 
if  a  man  should  sit  on  the  side  of  his  bed 
in  his  pyjamas  and  urge  the  burglar  who 
was  robbing  him  to  reform  and  join  the 
church. 

"  He  must  just  about  own  the  city  coun- 
cil," said  Sylvestre. 

"  He  does,"   grinned  Jed. 

"Do  you  know  which  ones?" 

"  Yep.  And  so  do  you.  They  were  at 
that  meeting.  Sat  over  by  the  window  and 
said  nothing.  Just  looked." 

"  What  were  they  there  for  ?  They  don't 
own  any  stock." 

"  To  see  that  Marston  was  doing  what  he 
had  promised  'em  he  would  do.  He  told 
'em  he  was  going  to  sell  out  to  the  English 


1 1 8  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

syndicate,  and  had  asked  them  to  hold  back 
the  city  council  until  he  had  made  the  deal. 
He  asked  'em  to  come  to  the  meeting  and 
see  for  themselves." 

Sylvestre  gave  vent  to  an  exclamation. 
Then  he  considered.  Jed  watched  him  joy- 
ously. 

"  Then  how  about  this  railroad  ?  There 
never  was  any  chance  —  " 

But  Jed  interrupted  him  with  a  smoth- 
ered shout. 

"Railroad!"  he  cried.  "Railroad! 
Who  said  there  was  any?" 

"  Well,  but  the  papers  —  the  advertise- 
ments —  the  —  " 

"  Young  man,"  said  Jed,  laying  his  hand 
on  Sylvestre's  arm,  "  you  want  to  go  to  a 
dentist  and  have  him  lance  your  wisdom 
teeth  through.  Make  him  hurry  'em  up, 
or  else  go  back  East  where  you  belong." 

Sylvestre  coloured  with  anger. 

"  Don't  get  mad.  Listen  to  your  Uncle 
Dudley.  Those  advertisements  were  made 
up  by  a  jim  dandy.  What  do  they  say? 
Do  they  claim  to  have  the  stock?  No! 
They  say  they  are  '  ready  to  receive  appli- 
cations for  stock/  See?  Now  who  i«  be- 


At  the  Denver  Club          119 

hind  that  deal?  Hey?  Lucius  Bunce. 
Whose  brother  is  he?  See?  Who  put 
him  up  to  it?  Tell  me  that!  The  grayest 
old  fox  in  the  bunch!  G.  W.  Marston,  of 
Denver." 

"  By  the  Lord !  "  cried  Sylvestre,  stung 
into  violent  speech,  as  he  remembered  his 
bootless  journey  to  New  York  and  his  in- 
terview with  the  New  York  banker.  Syl- 
vestre was  slow  to  anger,  but  when  once  he 
was  aroused,  he  was  what  men  call  "  an 
ugly  customer." 

Jed  watched  him  in  glee.  It  was  a  jovial 
sight  for  the  old  man  to  see  such  fury 
stirred  up  against  his  enemy.  Marston  had 
tried  to  do  him,  had  he?  And  he  had  hired 
his  own  paid  henchman,  Jimmie  Cheroot, 
to  do  the  business,  had  he?  And  they  were 
both  going  to  make  a  handsome  wad  out 
of  it,  were  they?  And  old  Jed  Brown  was 
left  out  of  it,  was  he?  Jed  almost  snarled 
these  thoughts  aloud.  Well,  watch  him 
stir  up  the  animals.  If  there  was  any  such 
thing  as  crippling  G.  W.  for  good  and  all, 
he  was  determined  to  do  it. 

"  You're  mad,  are  you,  sonny?  "  he  said. 


120  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  Well,  that  ain't  a  circumstance  to  what 
G.  W.  can  do!"  -? 

"I've  heard  enough,"  said  Sylvestre, 
shortly.  "  And  I've  a  plan  in  my  head. 
With  three  of  us  hot  on  his  trail  we  ought 
to  be  able  to  catch  up  with  even  '  the  gray- 
est old  fox  in  the  bunch.'  But  to  do  it  thor- 
oughly we  must  let  the  newspapers  in." 

He  looked  at  Jed  significantly. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  old  man,  lighting  a 
long,  black  cigar,  "  that  I'll  help  along  this 
reform  business  of  yours.  As  you  say,  it 
ain't  right  to  squeeze  the  Britishers.  Maybe 
some  of  'em  are  orphans.  I  think,  to-mor- 
row, I'll  just  step  around  and  see  Tappen 
and  Wright.  They  might  be  willing  to  let 
me  assume  their  obligations  to  our  old  col- 
lege chum  —  Mr.  Marston.  I  might  even  " 
—  puff,  puff  — "  offer  them  a  slight  in- 
ducement to  jump  head  over  heels  into  the 
campaign  issue  now.  In  that  case,"  he 
paused  and  blew  out  the  match,  "  watch 
for  the  newspapers  day  after  to-morrow 
morning." 


CHAPTER    IX 

PATRICIA    AND    LORD    ABERNETHY 

ON  the  day  after  the  bazar,  Patricia 
was  physically  ill.  The  sight  of  the 
house,  in  the  chaos  of  disorder, 
sickened  her.  She  read  languidly  the  glow- 
ing reports  of  the  bazar's  brilliance  and  suc- 
cess, which  the  newspapers  served  up  with 
true  Western  enthusiasm.  Even  the  con- 
gratulations of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Lowe 
and  the  thanks  of  her  tired  but  happy  com- 
mittee stirred  her  with  but  feeble  gratitude. 
The  reaction  had  set  in.  She  had  perhaps 
ruined  her  father.  The  thought  terrified 
her.  But  she  was  brave  enough  to  say  to 
Mrs.  Lowe: 

"  In  what  bank  do  you  deposit  your  hos- 
pital funds?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  I  would  put  them  in 
your  father's,  my  dear.  Mr.  Lowe  sug- 
gested it.  Why?" 


122  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  Because  I  would  rather  you  didn't.  It 
would  look  better,  I  think,  to  take  them 
somewhere  else.  It  is  a  large  sum  of 
money,  and  I  don't  want  any  one  to  think 
it  will  be  of  the  slightest  use  to  my  father." 

"  You  dear  child !  "  laughed  Mrs.  Lowe. 
"  I  am  sure  no  one  would  even  think  of 
such  a  thing." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Still,  to  please  me,  will 
you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly.  And  I  am  sure,  my 
dear,  that  such  delicacy  is  very  rare  to 
find." 

Patricia  coloured  with  shame  at  receiving 
praise  for  a  quality  she  had  not  exercised. 
All  she  was  thinking  of  was  the  safety  of 
those  funds.  Besides,  she  wanted  that 
cheque  of  hers  cashed  before  the  cloud 
burst,  for  she  had  no  idea  how  seriously 
or  how  lightly  her  father  would  be  affected 
by  his  failure  to  sell  the  trolley.  She  hoped 
to  "  squeeze  him,"  as  the  saying  went,  with 
sufficient  severity  to  make  him  remember 
her  as  a  dangerous  opponent. 

It  was  curiously  characteristic  of  her 
that  she  did  not  in  the  least  dread  her  fath- 
er's discovery  of  her  acts.  In  fact,  she 


•Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy   123 

looked  forward  to  it  with  some  anticipation. 
She  would  have  been  glad  if  she  could  have 
fought  it  out  with  him  that  day.  It  would 
have  served  as  a  mental  restorative  to  her 
exhausted  mind  and  body. 

As  for  her  feelings  toward  Abernethy, 
she  could  not  have  analyzed  them.  At  one 
moment,  she  longed  to  have  him  know  what 
she  had  done  as  proof  of  how  valiantly  she 
loved  him  and  how  greatly  she  had  dared 
for  his  sake.  At  another,  she  shook  with 
dread  at  the  thought  of  such  a  discovery. 

To  Patricia,  love  had  come  as  a  whirl- 
wind. It  had  swept  her  off  her  feet  with 
relentless  force.  She  was  a  pagan  in  many 
respects,  and  loved  fiercely,  as  pagans  do. 
Civilization  had  no  part  in  Patricia's  pas- 
sion for  Abernethy.  And  it  was  a  pale, 
gentle,  self-contained  past  product  of  the 
highest  civilization  which  had  so  won  the 
primeval  love  of  this  daughter  of  the  un- 
tamed West. 

She  was  at  times  wholesomely  afraid  of 
him,  as  a  fiery  woman  must  be  of  the  man 
she  loves  if  she  is  to  live  happily  with  him. 
At  other  times  she  was  fiercely  maternal  in 
her  rage  to  defend  and  protect  him  from  his 


124  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

enemies.  In  one  mood  she  felt  very  simple 
and  young  and  wholly  dependent  upon  his 
wider  knowledge  of  the  world  and  society. 
In  another  she  felt  years  older  and  wiser 
than  he,  and  longed  to  beg  him  to  do  noth- 
ing without  first  consulting  her.  It  was 
well  for  her  love  that  she  never  yielded  to 
this  desire  and  so  pricked  the  bubble  of  an 
Englishman's  self-esteem. 

Abernethy  had  listened  to  Sylvestre's  re- 
port of  his  conversation  with  Jed  Brown 
with  mixed  feelings.  He  felt  as  if  an  un- 
seen hand  had  snatched  him  back  at  the 
moment  he  was  about  to  slide  over  a  preci- 
pice. He  was  keenly  alive  to  the  fact  that 
some  woman  had  saved,  not  only  his  money, 
but  his  honour.  The  question  was,  who 
was  the  woman? 

Naturally  Patricia's  name  was  the  first 
to  flash  into  his  mind.  But  as  his  thoughts 
wandered  to  the  role  she  would  have  been 
obliged  to  play  in  order  to  warn  him,  not 
even  his  good  opinion  of  himself  would 
permit  him  to  believe  that  a  daughter  would 
so  far  prefer  a  lover's  safety  to  that  of  her 
own  father.  Nor  could  it  be  Mrs.  Win- 
throp,  for  she  was  in  love  with  Sylvestre, 


Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy    125 

and  could  have  no  motive.  Friendship,  the 
friendship  of  a  lifetime,  might  so  dare,  but 
not  the  ephemeral  acquaintanceship  which 
he  had  with  her.  Yet  the  woman,  who- 
ever she  might  prove  to  be,  was  clever, 
beastly  clever.  Who,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven,  could  it  be  but  Patricia?  The 
blood  coursed  swiftly  through  his  veins  as 
his  suspicions  returned  again  and  yet  again 
to  this  girl.  What  if,  after  all,  she  did 
love  him  enough  for  that?  What  a  wife 
she  would  make!  And  how  the  history  of 
such  an  unprecedented  act  of  devotion 
would  make  his  people  sit  up!  His  wife, 
were  she  American  or  Hottentot,  would 
need  no  further  introduction  to  the  proud 
old  house  of  Strowther  than  that. 

He  was  very  honourable  and  chivalrous, 
was  this  descendant  of  the  Goddards,  and 
he  had  so  far  abstained  from  asking  Pa- 
tricia to  be  his  wife,  partly  because  of  her 
great  wealth  and  because  he  had  hoped  to 
have  something  to  offer  her  besides  an  old 
name  and  an  empty  title.  Nor  was  he  sure 
of  her  love  for  him.  Now,  however,  he  was 
restless  from  dread  and  fear.  If,  as  Jed 
Brown  more  than  hinted,  the  attack  of  the 


126  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

newspapers  and  public  opinion  and  the  op- 
position forces  should  be  opened  up  sud- 
denly on  Marston,  and  he  was  caught  own- 
ing not  only  all  his  own  stock  but  all  of  Jed 
Brown's,  he  would  be  practically  ruined, 
for,  at  the  first  sign  of  the  weakening  of  the 
Despot  of  Denver,  all  the  jackals  would  be 
upon  him  in  an  instant.  There  might  even 
be  a  run  on  the  bank  and  total  annihilation 
might  result.  In  that  case,  Patricia  might 
as  well  be  a  Capulet  and  he  a  Montague  and 
be  done  with  it,  as  far  as  her  father's  con- 
sent and  any  amicable  alliance  was  to  be 
thought  of.  He  did  not,  you  see,  know  Pa- 
tricia Marston  in  the  least. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  it  should  prove  that 
Patricia  had  really  been  the  fortune-teller, 
it  might  be  wise  to  secure  her  promise  be- 
fore the  whole  affair  came  out  in  the  news- 
papers, in  which  case,  there  was  no  time 
to  be  lost.  While  not  understanding  the 
heights  and  depths  of  Patricia's  character, 
he  was  coming  to  depend  upon  her  resource- 
fulness and  to  lean,  in  a  manner,  on  her 
strength. 

Thus  it  was  that,  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
day  following  the  bazar,  Abernethy  sud- 


'Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy    127 

denly  decided  to  call  on  Patricia,  to  ascer- 
tain, if  possible,  where  he  stood  with  her. 

To  say  that  he  was  ill  at  ease,  while  he 
was  waiting  for  his  name  to  be  announced 
to  Patricia,  would  be  to  state  the  case 
mildly.  The  only  thing  which  gave  him 
any  confidence  was  the  sight  of  Patricia's 
equally  great  consternation  as  she  entered 
the  room.  She  actually  turned  pale.  As 
she  gave  him  her  hand,  neither  spoke. 
Abernethy  fumbled  with  his  monocle  and 
dropped  his  hat:  A  faint  twitching  of 
Patricia's  lip  showed  itself.  But  Abernethy 
had  no  sense  of  humour. 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  he  said. 

"  No,  indeed  I  am  not !  "  said  Patricia. 
"  How  can  you  think  so?  " 

"  I'm  nervous,  I  suppose.  I  want  to  tell 
you  something  —  to  ask  you  something, 
and  it  will  make  me  out  such  an  awful  ass, 
I  am  afraid  to  begin." 

Instantly  Patricia  divined  what  was  in 
the  air.  She  turned  cold. 

Abernethy  got  up  and  stood  near  her, 
with  his  arm  on  the  mantel.  He  drew  his 
gloves  through  his  hand  as  he  talked. 

"  You  must  forgive  me  if  I  seem  too  bold, 


128  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

but  no  man  who  loved  you  could  be  mis- 
taken. I  suspected  your  voice  last  night 
and  the  glance  of  those  eyes,  but  when  I 
caught  you  by  the  arms,  I  was  sure.  You 
were  the  gipsy  in  the  fortune-teller's 
booth!" 

Patricia's  colour  came  and  went. 

"  Suppose  I  was?  "   she  said  at  last. 

He  bent  over  her. 

"  My  God,  Patricia !  Do  you  know  what 
you  are  acknowledging  ?  " 

She  made  no  reply.  But  she  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  frightened,  helpless  glance. 
His  eyes  burned  into  hers. 

"  You  are  admitting  that  to  save  me  you 
sacrificed  your  own  father.  You  jeopar- 
dized your  own  fortune.  You  may  have 
impoverished  yourself.  And  for  me!  You 
are  admitting  that  —  that  you  love  me !  " 

A  quiver  of  emotion  swept  over  the  girl 
from  head  to  foot,  but  her  eyes  never 
wavered.  He  held  them  with  his  own. 

"Patricia!" 

He  knelt  on  one  knee  and  took  her  face 
between  his  hands. 

"  Patricia !  "   he  said  again. 

She   smiled   at   him,    half   dreamily,    al- 


"Patricia  and   Lord  Abernethy    129 

though  her  lips  burned  and  her  cheeks 
flamed  red. 

"Is  it  so  strange?"    she  said. 

"  That  you  should  love  me  like  that  ? 
Yes!  It  is  strange  that  any  woman  should 
care  more  for  a  penniless  lover  than  for 
such  a  fortune  as  you  have  imperilled.  But 
perhaps  you  don't  realize  what  you  have 
done?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do!  "  said  Patricia.  "  I  have 
sacrificed  my  father.  Well,  such  a  man 
deserves  to  be  sacrificed!  If  he  had  made 
his  money  honestly  I  would  feel  differently. 
But  he  has  no  sense  of  honour.  He  doesn't 
care  how  decent  people  feel  —  how  his  own 
daughter  feels !  Don't  think  I  took  this  way 
of  convincing  him  of  my  sincerity  without 
exhausting  all  other  methods!  I  have 
argued  with  him,  pleaded  with  him,  threat- 
ened him  with  this  very  thing,  and  what 
did  he  do  ?  He  laughed  at  me  —  and  gave 
me  a  cheque!  I  hate  his  money!  I  don't 
enjoy  this  house  or  fine  clothes  or  horses 
and  carriages !  They  are  not  ours !  They 
belong  to  honest  men  who  have  trusted 
my  father,  and  he  took  advantage  of  their 
weaknesses  and  betrayed  them.  I  would 


130  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

rather  walk  barefoot  through  life  as  the 
companion  of  an  honest  man  than  to  be 
the  daughter  of  such  a  father  and  sur- 
rounded by  all  this.  Does  that  shock  you? 
Does  it  sound  unfilial  and  disloyal  and  all 
the  rest  of  it?  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but 
I  never  believed  in  being  blindly  loyal  to 
parents  who  were  unworthy  of  respect  just 
because  one  happens  to  be  born  their  daugh- 
ter! It's  all  nonsense!  It's  all  wrong! 
The  only  thing  to  be  loyal  to  is  honour  — 
wherever  you  find  it,  and  I  find  it  in  you !  " 

Abernethy's  pale  face  was  flushed  with 
feeling.  He  drew  the  girl  closer  to  his 
breast  and  hid  his  face  in  her  hair. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  such  a  woman  as 
you  existed !  "  he  said.  "  Those  are  men's 
ideas  you  have  been  uttering,  and  very 
honest  and  loyal  men's  at  that.  I  didn't 
know  that  women  had  such  a  keen  sense 
of  honesty.  You  will  forgive  my  saying 
that?" 

"  It  is  true  —  that's  why  I  forgive  it," 
answered  Patricia.  "  That  is  why  I  don't 
get  on  with  women  very  well.  That  is  why 
I  love  Cornelia  Winthrop." 

"  But  oh,"  interrupted  Abernethy,  unwill- 


Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy    131 

ing  to  have  the  conversation  swerve  to  Mrs. 
Winthrop  or  anywhere,  in  fact,  except  back 
to  the  subject  of  the  wonder  and  beauty  of 
such  a  love  as  he  had  discovered  in  Patricia, 
"  how  could  you  be  so  magnificent !  I  can 
hardly  believe  yet  that  you  gave  it  all  up  for 
me.  How  can  I  ever  love  you  enough  to 
repay  you  for  such  a  sacrifice?  What  a 
woman  you  are !  Surely  there  is  no  one  else 
in  all  the  world  like  you !  " 

Now  if  Patricia  had  been  a  woman  of  the 
world,  she  would  have  accepted  that  state- 
ment as  soul-satisfying  and  quite  as  it 
should  be,  and  she  would  have  let  it  go  at 
that.  But  in  the  divine  generosity  of  her 
eager  young  soul,  she  flew  at  once  to  the 
task  of  disproving  it,  in  order  to  give  a 
friend  her  just  due. 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know,"  she  cried. 
"  I  gave  it  up  because  I  loved  you !  It  was 
easy  to  do  that  because  you  were  on  the 
other  side  of  it,  and  I  was  doing  it  to  save 
you  —  to  warn  you.  Women  will  always 
dare  such  things  for  the  men  they  love. 
But  for  an  abstract  idea?  For  good,  just 
because  it  is  right  and  honourable?  Will 


132   The  Interference  of  Patricia 

they  throw  away  a  fortune  or  even  an  oppor- 
tunity to  make  one?  Tell  me  that!  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Abernethy,  "  that 
they  will  not.  Unless,  as  you  say,  there  is 
a  man  in  the  case." 

"Yet  Cornelia  Winthrop  did  just  that! 
And  there  was  no  man  in  the  case  —  unless 
you  could  be  the  man  in  two  cases ! " 

"I?    What  have  I  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Everything.  She  did  it  for  you  and  for 
me.  And  in  so  doing,  she  destroyed  all  her 
hopes  of  money  and  all  Sylvestre's  pros- 
pects. And  they  wanted  to  be  married !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  Tell  me,"  said 
Abernethy. 

"  Why,"  and  Patricia  almost  stuttered 
in  her  eagerness,  "  you  knew  of  course  that 
Cornelia  was  here  to  sell  her  mine,  didn't 
you  ?  And  you  know  it  is  situated  in  Monte 
Cristo  County  near  Agua.  Well,  Cornelia 
and  Sylvestre  were  planning  and  working 
in  every  way  possible  to  have  the  new  trans- 
continental railroad  go  through  Agua  and 
buy  her  property." 

She  paused  a  moment  and  looked  at 
Abernethy. 

"  Didn't  she  know  that  there  was  to  be  no 


Y 

Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy    133 

railroad?  That  it  was  all  part  of  the  pi — 
plan  to  sell  the  trolley  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Go  on !  Use  the  word  you  intended 
to !  "  cried  Patricia.  "  It  was  a  plot !  No, 
she  didn't  know  it.  Any  more  than  you  did. 
I  found  it  out  accidentally  and  went  and 
told  her  that  you  must  be  warned,  and  that 
she  must  help  me  warn  you.  I  remember 
now  how  pale  she  grew  and  how  suddenly 
she  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  staring 
out  at  the  mountains.  I  thought  she  took 
no  interest  in  my  troubles  and  I  felt  angry 
with  her  —  brute  that  I  was!  When  all 
the  time  she  was  fighting  down  her  disap- 
pointment. The  shock  of  suddenly  realiz- 
ing that  if  you  did  not  buy  the  trolley  the 
railroad  would  not  go  through  her  property 
and  would  leave  her  mine  and  the  town  of 
Agua  as  it  had  always  been,  was  almost  too 
much  for  her.  But  realizing  all  that,  she 
helped  me  to  warn  you.  There's  a  woman 
for  you ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  she  was  going 
to  sacrifice  her  gold  mine  to  the  railroad  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Why,  that  mine  of  hers 
won't  be  sold  until  somebody  comes  along 
with  millions  and  a  wild  desire  to  sink 


134  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

them ! "  cried  Patricia,  with  her  eager  eyes 
on  the  Englishman's  face. 

"  I  have  only  just  learned  in  the  last  day 
or  two  what  a  valuable  mine  it  is,"  said 
Abernethy,  stroking  his  moustache.  Patri- 
cia afterward  learned  to  watch  for  that 
familiar  movement  whenever  he  was  think- 
ing deeply.  Then  after  a  pause  he  added: 
"  Did  you  know  that  I  was  instructed  to 
buy  mining  property,  and  that  I  had  to 
work  hard  to  persuade  my  father's  friends 
to  buy  the  trolley  instead  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  until  day  before  yesterday. 
Then  Sylvestre  told  me.  Did  you  —  have 
you  —  would  you  consider  looking  into 
Cornelia's  property?"  stammered  Patricia. 

Abernethy  laughed  outright.  He  leaned 
nearer  and  pressed  her  face  close  to  his.  It 
was  burning  hot  and  her  breath  came  short. 

"  Anybody  would  think,  you  dear  thing, 
that  you  were  trying  to  sell  me  something 
of  your  own,  from  your  embarrassment," 
he  said.  "  I  have  thought  of  it.  In  fact, 
I  have  all  of  Sylvestre's  data  about  it  in 
my  pocket  and  I  am  going  into  the  thing 
thoroughly.  Does  that  please  you  ?  " 

"  Please  me !  "    cried  the  girl,  radiantly. 


*  Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy    135 

"  It  delights  me !  And  then,  too,  it  is  only 
—  justice!  Justice  and  common  grati- 
tude." 

"  Why,  how  is  that?  "   asked  Abernethy. 

"  It  was  Cornelia  who  suggested  the  for- 
tune-teller. She  gathered  herself  together 
in  the  very  teeth  of  her  own  disappointment 
and  we  decided  on  it  that  day.  Oh,  can  you 
fathom  such  nobility  as  that  ?  /  didn't  know 
that  she  was  counting  on  such  a  thing  until 
a  long  time  afterward.  And  she  has  led 
such  a  sad  life  in  spite  of  her  wealth  and 
beauty." 

"  I  heard  that  she  had  a  brute  of  a  hus- 
band," said  Abernethy. 

"  She  did.  He  broke  her  heart  and  went 
through  her  fortune  and  left  her  with  just 
this  mine  that  he  had  vainly  tried  to  sell 
for  eight  years.  The  hopes  of  both  Cornelia 
and  Sylvestre  were  pinned  to  the  railroad. 
And  they  looked  forward  to  a  quiet  life  with 
no  great  amount  of  money,  but  happiness 
in  each  other." 

"  By  Jove !  "  said  the  Englishman,  whose 
emotions,  although  deep-lying,  had  been 
stirred,  "  if  her  mine  is  half  as  good  as  Syl- 
vestre says,  she  and  that  young  man  won't 


136  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

be  obliged  to  live  in  obscurity  and  dull 
respectability.  For  if  we  buy  it,  Sylvestre 
thinks  Jed  Brown  will  join  forces  with  us 
and  continue  his  railroad  down  to  Agua. 
But  he  won't  give  us  his  decision  until  day 
after  to-morrow." 

Patricia  flung  back  her  head  and  burst 
into  a  peal  of  laughter.  Abernethy  looked 
at  her  in  surprise. 

"  It's  because  the  gipsy  told  him  to  dream 
three  nights  on  her  coin  before  speaking !  " 
she  cried.  "  He  was  so  wild  to  ruin  father 
that  he  wanted  to  hunt  you  up  and  make  a 
deal  with  you  that  night!  And  that  would 
have  ruined  things !  " 

"  Then  you  foresaw  all  this  ?  Patricia, 
girl !  I  am  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  you." 

Abernethy  was  not  the  first  Englishman 
to  be  surprised  and  a  little  frightened  at 
the  cleverness  and  versatility  of  the  Ameri- 
can girl.  It  did  him  no  harm  to  stand  in 
a  little  wholesome  awe  of  her. 

"  Don't  worry  about  his  not  going  in  with 
you,  if  you  give  him  a  chance.  He  has 
known  all  about  that  mine  for  years,  and  it 
is  my  private  belief  that  he  built  that  ten 
miles  of  road  for  this  very  purpose  about 


Patricia  and  Lord  Abernethy    137 

eight  years  ago  when  there  was  a  good 
prospect  of  Mr.  Winthrop  selling  it  to  a 
syndicate  of  New  York  men.  Father  said 
something  about  it,  but  he  didn't  make  it 
very  clear." 

Lord  Abernethy's  eyes  flashed  with  re- 
pressed excitement. 

"  If  it  is  as  good  as  all  that  and  as  well 
known,  it  will  not  only  be  the  means  of  sav- 
ing my  pride,  but  it  will  be  quite  a  feather 
in  my  cap  to  buy  it,"  he  said.  "  I  confess 
to  a  desperate  shrinking  from  explaining 
the  whole  matter  to  our  syndicate.  But  to 
offer  them  a  better  proposition,  and  along 
the  lines  they  first  wished  for,  will  not  only 
remove  the  little  dissatisfaction  which  now 
exists  among  them,  but  will  open  up  their 
pockets  to  greater  investments.  We  may 
yet  make  a  colossal  fortune  out  of  this  thing. 
And  then,  Patricia,  I  shall  have  something 
to  offer  you !  " 

"  Don't,"  cried  the  girl,  sharply.  "  I  have 
a  little  of  my  own,  a  legacy  from  my  grand- 
mother. It  is  enough  for  us.  Don't  leave 
me  here!  Take  me  away  from  it  all!  I'm 
sick  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole  place. 


138  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

I  want  to  go  —  with  you!  I  can't  exist 
with  these  people !  " 

Abernethy  needed  no  more. 

"Would  you?"  he  breathed.  "Would 
you  dare  risk  it  with  me,  knowing  no  more 
of  me  than  you  do  ?  Don't  you  need  wealth 
to  make  you  happy?  Could  you  get  along 
without  —  all  this?" 

"  How  little  you  know  me,"  whispered 
Patricia. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE   TWO    MARSTONS 

BEFORE  leaving  Patricia,  Abernethy 
had  begged  her  permission  to  write 
or  speak  to  her  father  immediately, 
but  Patricia  had  so  repeatedly  been  obliged 
to  listen  to  her  father's  contemptuous  re- 
marks about  "  that  damned  Englishman," 
that  she  exacted  a  promise  from  her  lover  to 
wait  a  few  days  and  give  events  a  reason- 
able time  to  develop. 

In  this,  Patricia  was  urged  by  a  twofold 
motive.  First,  she  knew  that  no  consent 
obtained  from  her  father  now  would  hold 
good  when  he  discovered  that  Abernethy's 
syndicate  would  not  buy  the  trolley.  In  the 
second  place,  she  wished  to  confess  to  her 
father  her  part  in  the  transaction,  bear  his 
reproaches,  and  stem  the  tide  of  his  fury. 
Ajfter  all  this  was  done,  she  would  feel  at 
liberty  to  believe  any  promise  of  clemency 
139 


140  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

he  might  be  persuaded  to  make,  for  G.  W.'s 
anger  was  as  short-lived  as  it  was  intense 
and  profane  in  its  expression. 

Fortunately  for  her  eager  temper,  she 
would  not  have  long  to  wait,  for  the  next 
day  was  the  last  of  Abernethy's  option  and 
the  one  set  for  the  payment  of  the  money, 
should  no  untoward  event  occur  to  disturb 
his  decision. 

Patricia,  unable  to  sleep,  rose  early  and 
was  off  before  breakfast  for  a  gallop  on 
her  chestnut  mare.  She  was  horrified  on 
crossing  Logan  Avenue  to  see  that  one  oi  its 
handsomest  houses  was  burned  to  the 
ground  and  that  the  ruins  were  still  smoul- 
dering. The  Denver  Fire  Department  was 
so  excellent  that  she  wondered  that  nothing 
had  been  saved.  The  engines  were  still 
pumping,  and  an  enormous  crowd  prevented 
her  going  close  enough  to  learn  anything 
of  the  particulars.  As  it  must  have  burned 
early  in  the  night  she  hurried  home  to  see 
the  morning  papers.  The  house  burned  was 
that  of  Judge  Beckwith,  and  one  of  which 
Denver  was  peculiarly  proud,  as  it  boasted 
a  fine  library  and  many  valuable  engravings. 

The  fire,  if  it  had  been  instigated  by  Jed 


The  Two  Marstons  141 

Brown,  could  not  have  served  his  purpose 
better,  for  the  overhead  trolley  wires  had 
prevented  the  working  of  the  hook  and 
ladder  company  and  had  materially  aided  in 
the  complete  destruction  of  the  judge's  ele- 
gant home. 

Judge  Beckwith,  honourable,  upright,  and 
fearless,  was  one  of  the  few  men  whom 
Marston  did  not  own,  and  with  his  statement 
to  the  press  of  the  chief  reason  his  posses- 
sions were  destroyed,  the  press  of  Denver, 
stimulated  by  Jed  Brown,  took  a  long  breath, 
rolled  up  its  sleeves,  so  to  speak,  and  went 
to  work. 

Seldom  has  any  man  been  treated  to  so 
varied  yet  universal  invective  as  that  which 
was  served  up  to  George  Washington  Mars- 
ton  on  the  day  after  the  fire.  To  say  that 
he  was  handled  without  gloves  is  not  to 
do  justice  to  the  spirited  journalism  of  trie 
West.  It  would  express  their  method  more 
concisely  to  say  that  in  lieu  o>f  gloves  every 
editorial  fist  was  equipped  with  brass 
knuckles.  They  began  with  G.  W.'s  arrival 
in  Denver  and  opened  up  every  sharp  deal 
and  too  shrewd  transaction  of  his  shady 
career.  They  aired  the  trolley  affair.  They 


142  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

published  Abernethy's  statement  that  his 
syndicate's  option  would  be  allowed  to  lapse. 
They  raged  against  the  abandoned  conduit. 
They  demanded  in  the  name  of  the  city  of 
Denver,  of  the  great  Commonwealth  in 
which  they  resided,  that  the  trolley  company 
should  remove  it.  They  showed  how  G. 
W.  had  crowded  Jed  Brown  out  of  the  com- 
pany on  an  almost  forgotten  option,  just  in 
time  to  prevent  his  making  the  profit  which 
was  soon  to  flow  into  Marston's  pocket. 
They  jeered  at  Marston's  disappointment 
and  derided  him  for  owning  three-quarters 
of  the  stock. 

"  Caught  With  The  Goods  On  "  were  the 
headlines  of  one  particularly  enterprising 
sheet. 

Patricia  dared  not  meet  her  father  at 
breakfast.  She  sent  out  for  copies  of  all 
the  papers,  after  having  glanced  at  the  head- 
lines, and  read  them  in  her  room.  She 
heard  the  slamming  of  the  two  library  doors 
and  knew  that  her  father  was  reading  them 
also. 

Several  reporters  called,  but  were  refused 
admittance.  Finally,  from  behind  closed 


The  Two  Marstons  143 

blinds,  Patricia  saw  her  father  leave  the 
house  and  start  for  the  bank. 

He  was  gone  all  day.  Patricia  knew  that 
there  would  be  no  use  in  seeking  her  mother, 
for  Mrs.  Marston  would  know  nothing  of  it. 
Mrs.  Lowe  and  her  committee  tactfully  kept 
away.  Cornelia  telephoned,  but  Patricia 
was  in  no  mood  to  see  even  Cornelia. 

Abernethy  sent  some  tiger-lilies  with  a 
note  which  delighted  Patricia. 

"  Both  roses  and  violets  seem  tame  when 
I  think  of  you  and  all  you  have  done  for 
me,"  he  wrote.  "  These  fiercely  beautiful 
flowers  are  strangely  emblematic  of  your 
magnificent  courage  and  the  purity  and 
singleness  of  your  purpose.  You  have 
fought  like  a  little  tigress  and  you  are  as 
pure  and  sweet  as  a  lily." 

He  called  in  the  afternoon  and  was  im- 
mensely diverted  at  seeing  his  flowers  in  a 
tall  vase  on  the  piano  in  the  music-room, 
while  Patricia  sat  down  at  the  instrument 
and  sang,  with  an  inimitable  accent,  that 
song  from  "  Aunt  Hannah,"  "  You  is  mah 
lily  —  mah  tiger-lily !  " 

Abernethy  was  delighted.  Her  sense  of 
humour,  perhaps  because  his  own  was  not 


144  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

abnormally  developed,  seemed  to  him  irre- 
sistible. An  English  girl  in  her  place  would 
have  been  so  bowled  over  by  the  sentiment 
of  his  note  that  she  would  have  quoted 
Cowper  to  him  in  return.  He  found  Pa- 
tricia's way  much  more  exhilarating,  for  in 
spite  of  her  fun  he  read  in  her  expressive 
eyes  that  his  words  had  been  amply  appre- 
ciated. 

After  he  had  gone  Patricia  had  not  long 
to  wait  before  her  father  arrived.  It  proved 
that  the  girl  was  no  coward  in  that  she  dared 
to  follow  him  into  the  library  after  she  had 
seen  the  storm  in  his  face. 

He  was  not  sorry  to  see  her.  His  rage 
demanded  an  outlet,  and  his  daughter  was 
familiar  with  his  bursts  of  fury  and  his 
frightful  profanity.  On  this  occasion,  he  not 
only  uttered  all  his  old  oaths,  but  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  he  invented  some  new 
ones  of  a  particularly  fantastic  and  descrip- 
tive pattern. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  softening  and  refining 
influence  of  her  new  friendship  with  Cornelia 
and  her  love  for  Ajbernethy,  but  something 
caused  the  girl  to  shrink  in  sudden  horror 
from  her  father's  familiar  invective. 


The  Two  Marstons  145 

"  I  tell  you,  Patrichy,"  he  said,  finally, 
"you  wouldn't  sit  there  so  quietly  if  you 
knew  how  damned  near  ruined  your  old 
father  is.  I  had  let  everything  else  slide 

while  I  tried  to  sell  this trolley.  I 

made  a  mistake  —  a  big  mistake  —  in  crowd- 
ing Jed  Brown  out  of  his  share  in  the  profits, 
for  if  I  had  left  him  in,  he  wouldn't  have 
rotted  on  me.  Do  you  know  what  he  did? 
He  went  and  hunted  up,  helped  by  that  little 
skunk  Cheroot  (just  you  wait  until  I  can 
get  at  him!),  every  man  in  the  city  council 
and  in  the  newspaper  line  who  owed  me 
money,  and  he  released  'em!  Think  of  that 
for  a  dirty  back-hander  at  me!  It  must 
have  cost  him  a  pretty  penny,  but  old  Jed 
is  as  mean  as  an  Indian  when  he  wants 
revenge,  and  he'd  spend  his  last  cent  to 
get  even.  That  loosed  every  hell-hound  in 
town  and  to-day  they  all  landed  on  me. 
Have  you  seen  the  papers  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Patricia.    "  I  read  them  all." 
"  Pretty  reading,  weren't  they  ?  " 
"  I  must  say  I  think  you  deserved  it,"  said 
Patricia,  quietly. 

G.  W.  glared  at  her. 
"What?  "he  shouted. 


146  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  I  must  say  I  think  you  deserved  every 
word  they  said  —  and  more,"  she  repeated. 
"  They  don't  know  everything.  For  in- 
stance, they  don't  know  some  of  the  things 
on  you  that  I  do." 

The  old  man's  fingers  worked  convul- 
sively. If  Patricia  had  been  a  man,  he  would 
have  sprung  at  her  throat.  But  the  girl  sat 
quiet  and  defenceless  before  him,  and  he 
knew  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  him.  She 
looked  at  him  scornfully. 

"  You  have  defied  public  opinion  for 
years,"  she  said.  "  There  wasn't  one  line 
in  the  papers  to-day  that  was  news  to  you. 
What  are  you  so  hot  about?  " 

"  Because  I'm  caught,  I  suppose,"  said 
G.  W.,  his  grim  sense  of  humour  not  desert- 
ing him  even  in  this  crisis,  "  with  the  goods 
on.  It  isn't  pleasant  to  be  caught,  Pa- 
trichy." 

"  No,  but  you  never  would  be  warned. 
How  many  times  have  I  begged  you  not  to 
go  on  as  you  were  doing?  How  often  have 
I  told  you  that  this  time  would  surely 
come?" 

"  I  know  you  have,  Patrichy,  but  I  never 
believed  yon.  I  thought  I  could  pull 


Af 

The  Two  Marstons  147 

through.  I  never  counted  on  treachery  from 
an  old  friend !  " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Patricia,  vehemently.  "  You 
never  counted  on  your  own  treachery  com- 
ing home  to  you !  You  have  been  ruined  by 
the  very  methods  you  have  used  to  ruin 
others.  You  induced  people  to  trust  you  that 
you  might  trade  on  their  weaknesses  and 
rob  them.  Now  you  have  got  a  taste  of  your 
own  medicine.  The  two  you  most  trusted 
betrayed  you,  and  you've  only  got  what  you 
deserved." 

"The  two?    Who  else  besides  Jed?" 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Lord  Abernethy," 
said  Patricia,  with  apparent  irrelevance. 
"  Think  it  over." 

G.  W.  possessed  the  self-control  in  a 
crisis  which  had  made  him  what  he  was. 
Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved  at  this  ex- 
traordinary piece  of  news.  His  quick  mind 
flew  backward  and  pieced  a  little  here  and 
a  little  there  until  he  almost  saw  the  truth. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  he  said,  scratching  his  bristly 
chin.  "  Then  it  was  you  who  told  him 
about  the  abandoned  conduit,  and  upset  the 
whole  apple  cart,  was  it  ?  " 


148  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

"  Did  I  or  did  I  not  plead  with  you  not 
to  go  on  with  this  thing?  " 

"You  did." 

"  Did  you  refuse  me?  " 

"  As  I  remember  it,  seems  to  me,  I  did." 

"  Well,  —  it  may  interest  you  to  know 
that  I  was  the  gipsy  fortune-teller  night 
before  last." 

The  two  Marstons,  father  and  daughter, 
stared  straight  into  each  other's  eyes  across 
the  library-table.  Patricia's,  at  that  mo- 
ment, had  the  same  cold,  fearless,  steely  glare 
that  G.  W.'s  enemies  had  learned  to  dread. 
Her  father  recognized  and  admired  it, 
even  in  that  supreme  crisis,  when  in  his 
fury  he  could  have  struck  her  dead  for 
thwarting  him. 

"  You  deliberately  ruined  me,  then,  did 
you  ?  Your  own  father,  to  save  your  lover  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  did." 

"  It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  Cross- 
fuylen  predicts  a  run  on  the  bank  to- 
morrow." 

"  It  doesn't  concern  me,"  said  Patricia. 
"  My  money  isn't  invested  where  you  can 
touch  it." 

Marston  changed  his  tactics. 


The  Two  Marstons  149 

"  And  is  this  the  reward  I  get  for  having 
slaved  all  my  life  to  make  money  for  you?  " 

Patricia  laughed.  It  was  so  exactly  G. 
W.'s  own  mirthless  laugh  that  the  old  man 
started.  Verily  she  was  a  chip  off  the  old 
block  and  there  was  no  bluffing  her. 

"  You'll  change  your  tune,  miss,  when 
you  find  what  it  is  to  be  poor.  You've  never 
known  what  it  was.  You've  been  fed  and 
lodged  like  a  princess.  You've  never  had 
your  will  crossed  since  you  were  a  baby. 
I'll  be  glad  to  see  you  come  down  to  hard 
pan,  you  ungrateful  hussy.  And  as  to  that 
skunk  of  an  Englishman,  with  a  watch  on 
his  wrist  and  bells  on  his  toes  —  say,  Pa- 
trichy,  why  don't  he  wear  a  ring  in  his 
nose?" 

"  Oh,  father,  why  will  you  go  to  so  much 
trouble  to  be  vulgar?  Surely  I  am  not 
worth  the  effort,"  said  Patricia,  wearily. 

"  He  hasn't  got  a  cent.  You'll  be  as  poor 
as  Job's  turkey,"  said  her  father. 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  he  and  Sylvestre  are 
investigating  Mrs.  Winthrop's  mine  with 
a  view  to  buying  it  for  his  syndicate,  and 
Jed  Brown  is  thinking  of  continuing  his 
road  down  to  Agua  and  going  in  with 


150  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

them,"  said  the  girl,  with  elaborate  careless- 
ness. 

Her  shot  told.  G.  W.'s  red  face  turned 
purple.  His  lips  drew  back  over  his  teeth 
like  the  snarl  of  a  tiger. 

"  Is  that  your  doing  too?  "   he  hissed. 

*'  I  believe  the  gipsy  suggested  it/'  said 
Patricia. 

Then  Marston  broke  loose  and  treated 
the  situation  as  it  seemed  to  him  to  deserve. 
He  skipped  nothing,  neither  Patricia,  Aber- 
nethy,  nor  any  man  or  woman  concerned 
in  his  present  unfortunate  predicament.  He 
cursed  them  all,  and  Patricia  sat  and  lis- 
tened. It  was  what  she  wanted.  After 
airing  his  emotion,  her  father  would  be 
amenable  to  reason.  When  he  paused  for 
sheer  lack  of  breath,  the  girl  leaned  forward 
and  said: 

"  Now,  father,  listen  to  me.  I'm  sick  of 
this  whole  thing.  I  am  sick  of  your  way 
of  doing  business.  I  am  tired  of  being 
despised  by  honest  people.  I  want  to  get 
out  of  it  all,  and  I  took  the  only  way  I  saw 
to  do  it.  You  say  you  are  ruined,  but  I 
know  you  are  not.  You  are  just  chagrined 
at  being  done  by  your  own  methods.  Your 


tjr 

The  Two  Marstons  151 

vanity  is  hurt.  You  are  mad  at  me,  at  Jed, 
at  Abernethy,  and  at  everybody  except  the 
only  one  you  have  a  right  to  be  mad  at, 
and  that's  yourself.  It's  every  bit  your 
own  fault.  You  brought  me  up  to  think 
such  things  were  right,  and  when  the  time 
came  I  put  my  knowledge  to  good  use.  I've 
saved  the  money  and  the  honour  of  the 
man  I  love.  And  I'd  do  it  again,  so  don't 
think  I'm  weakening.  I'd  kill  anybody  who 
stood  in  my  way!  Oh,  I  am  your  own 
daughter,  you  see! 

"  Now  there  is  no  use  in  your  saying 
I  sha'n't  marry  him,  for  you  know  I  am 
going  to  do  it.  You've  only  been  wasting 
your  breath.  But  listen.  I'm  ready  to 
make  a  bargain  with  you.  Suppose  I  could 
suggest  something  to  you  which  would  more 
than  get  your  money  back.  Suppose  it 
would  make  people  think  well  of  you  — 
better  than  they  ever  did  before.  What 
then?" 

The  old  man  had  never  admired  his 
daughter  as  during  this  interview  when 
she  had  been  most  impertinent,  most  un- 
filial,  most  unbearable,  in  fact.  She  had 
taken  the  only  method,  reprehensible  though 


152  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

it  was,  to  subdue  her  tigerish  old  father 
and  reduce  him  to  a  civilization  where  it 
would  be  safe  for  Abernethy  to  address 
him  —  unarmed.  Even  in  the  midst  of  his 
anger,  the  thought  would  intrude  itself  that 
it  was  "  Patrichy,"  his  own  girl,  who  had 
done  him  at  last.  It  was  the  instinct  of 
the  habitual  gambler.  His  respect  for  her, 
therefore,  induced  him  to  listen  carefully 
to  her  proposal  and  even  to  make  liberal 
terms  with  her.  '  .. 

"What  will  I  do?  Well,  I'll  tell  you. 
I  won't  make  any  fuss  about  your  marry- 
ing that  —  that  Englishman,  and  I'll  give 
you  the  handsomest  wedding  that  Denver 
ever  saw." 

"  That  isn't  enough,"  said  Patricia, 
shortly. 

"  Well,"  said  her  father,  stroking  his 
face  to  hide  a  grin  of  amusement,  "I'll 
give  you  a  house  and  —  " 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Patricia,  impatiently. 

"  Carriage  and  horses." 

"  Oh  father,  what  is  the  use  of  trifling?  " 
cried  the  girl.  "  Will  you  give  me  half  of 
what  you  make?  Half  your  trolley  stock 
—  if  I  can  make  it  pay?  " 


t» 

The  Two  Marstons  153 

*'  Yes,  I  will !  I'll  make  you  an  even 
partner,"  cried  the  old  man2  his  eyes  snap- 
ping at  the  prospect.  "  What's  your  idea?  " 

"Now  mind,  that's  a  bargain,  is  it?" 

"  Here's  my  hand  on  it." 

"  I'd  rather  have  your  hand  writing  on 
it.  Just  sign  your  name  to  this,  will  you  ?  " 

G.  W.  put  on  his  glasses  with  a  look  at 
his  daughter  which  might  mean  anything. 

"Who  drew  this  up?"    he  asked. 

"  A  lawyer." 

"  Patrichy,  you're  a  little  devil." 

He  drew  the  inkstand  toward  him  and 
signed  a  legal  contract  which  bound  him. 

*'  Now  let  her  go,"  said  her  father. 

"  You  know  very  well,"  began  his  daugh- 
ter, "  how  powerful  Judge  Beckwith's  in- 
fluence is  with  the  best  people  of  Denver. 
Now  then,  as  I  look  at  it,  you  are  more 
injured,  from  a  business  point  of  view,  by 
his  statements  of  the  danger  of  the  trolley 
wires  than  by  any  of  the  other  things  the 
papers  said  against  you.  Isn't  that  so?  " 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was,"  replied 
her  father. 

"  Well,  you  are  face  to  face  with  the 
proposition  of  being  obliged  to  take  up  the 


1 54  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

conduit.  Now,  just  fall  in  with  public 
sentiment  —  go  it  one  better  for  once  in 
your  life  —  and  put  the  trolley  wires  in  the 
conduit! " 

For  a  moment  an  intense  silence  reigned. 
Finally  the  old  man  leaned  across  and  held 
out  his  hand : 

"  Patrichy,"  he  said,  "  I  never  was  so 
sorry  in  my  life  as  I  am  this  moment  that 
you  aren't  a  man." 

"  Then  you  think  the  plan  a  good  one?  " 

"  I  only  think  what  chuckle-headed  asses 
the  company  was  not  to  think  of  it  when 
we  changed  the  road  from  a  cable  to  a 
trolley.  Lord!  Lord!  And  to  be  taught 
such  a  stroke  by  a  woman  —  a  little  girl 
like  you." 

Patricia  laughed. 

u  There's  one  thing  I'm  sorry  for,"  he 
added,  "  and  that  is,  if  you  are  so  hell-bent 
on  marrying  an  Englishman  that  you  didn't 
take  the  other  fellow  —  Sir  Wemyss  Lom- 
bard." 

"  But  he  didn't  want  me,  father.  He's 
engaged  to  a  beautiful  girl  in  England." 

"  That's  nothing.  You  could  have  cut 
her  out  if  you'd  half  tried.  Why,  that  man, 


or 

The  Two  Marstons  155 

Patrichy,  can  drink  a  quart  of  whiskey,  of 
Scotch,  mind  you,  and  strong  as  lye,  all  by 
himself  with  nobody  to  help  him,  between 
dinner  and  bedtime,  and  walk  tip-stairs,  by 
the  Lord,  without  touching  the  banisters ! " 

Patricia  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  Is  that  your  only  reason  for  preferring 
him  to  Lord  Abernethy  ?  " 

"  But  what  a  head  it  shows !  " 

"How  little  head  it  shows!  Think  of 
him  in  ten  years!  And  think  of  his  wife! 
No,  thank  you,  father.  I'll  keep  Lord 
Abernethy,  if  you  don't  mind." 

The  old  man  sighed. 

"  Patrichy,  promise  me  one  thing.  If 
you  have  any  influence  with  him,  get  him 
to  throw  away  that  damned  bracelet- watch.5' 

"  I  will,  if  you'll  give  him  a  repeater  like 
yours,"  said  the  girl,  dimpling. 

"  I'll  do  it!  I'll  do  it!  I'll  order  it  to- 
morrow! Anything  on  God's  earth  to  get 
a  man  to  leave  off  earrings  and  bracelets." 

The  old  man  rose. 

"  God !  I'm  sorry  it's  night  and  I  can't 
begin  this  thing  for  twelve  hours,"  he  said, 
pacing  up  and  down. 


156  The  Interference  of  Patricia 

A  cautious  knock  at  the  door  came  just 
then. 

"  A  reporter  to  see  Mr.  Marston,"  said 
the  maid. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  in,"  said  Patricia. 
"  You  see,  father,  now  you  won't  have  to 
wait.  You  can  begin  to-night." 

The  old  man  stood  and  watched  her  as 
she  left  the  room.  Then  he  shook  his  head 
with  a  gusty  sigh. 

"  Lord !  Lord !  Why  wasn't  Patrichy  a 
boy  ?  "  he  said. 


THE    END. 


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Library  I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated    .         .         .     $1.50 

His  latest  novel  is  a  new  departure  for  Mr.  Stephens,  and 
his  greatest  effort  as  well.  Turning  from  past  days  and  dis- 
tant scenes,  the  themes  of  his  previous  successes,  he  has 
taken  up  American  life  of  modern  days  for  his  serious  choice 
as  a  field  for  romance.  It  is  said  that  this  is  the  most  vital 
and  absorbing  of  all  Mr.  Stephens's  novels.  It  is  certain,  at 
any  rate,  that  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  his  readers  will 
look  forward  with  pleasure,  as  well  as  some  degree  of  curi- 
osity, to  his  latest  work. 


L.    C.  PAGE   AND   COMPANY'S 


Ladd.     A   NOVEL    OF    EARLY   COLONIAL 
DAYS.     By  CHARLES   G.   D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  The 
Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood,"  "  A  Sister  to  Evangeline," 
etc. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated   .         .         .     $1.50 

Stephen    HoltOIl :    A  STORY  OF  LIFE  AS  IT  Is  IN 

TOWN  AND   COUNTRY.     By  CHARLES   FELTON   PIDGIN, 

author  of  "  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer  "  and  "  Blennerhassett." 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated   .         .         .     $1.50 

In  "  Stephen    Holton "   the    author    of    "  Quincy    Adams 

Sawyer,"  which  has  been  called  "  the  best  New  England  story 

ever  written,"  has  returned  to  the  field  of  his  first  success  — 

the  annals  of  homely  modern  life.    The  hundreds  of  thousands 

who  read  that  widely  noticed  book  are  doubtless  anticipating 

the  author's  second  story  of  New  England  life. 

Abroad  with  the  Jimmies.    By  LILIAN  BELL, 

author  of  "  The  Love  Affairs  of  an  Old  Maid,"  "  The  Expa- 
triates," etc. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  with  a  portrait  frontis- 
piece        .         .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .     $1.50 

This  book,  one  of  Lilian  Bell's  best,  is  the  witty  account  of 
a  journey  through  Europe,  filled  with  many  amusing  incidents 
and  experiences.  Although  we  are  afforded  vivid  and  inter- 
esting glimpses  of  Nordau,  Tolstoi,  and  other  personages  of 
importance  and  note,  not  the  least  attractive  figures  in  the 
book  are  those  of  the  engaging  Jimmies,  the  author's  travel- 
ling companions. 

Hope    Loriflg.      By   LILIAN   BELL,   author  of  "The 
Love  Affairs  of  an  Old  Maid,"  "  The  Expatriates,"  etc. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated    .         .         .     $1.50 
The  latest  and  most  important  novel  of  this  clever  writer  is 
based  upon  the  experiences  of  a  Southern  girl  in  New  York 
society.     It  is  filled  with  keen  and  entertaining  obsenration  of 
the  life  of  New  York  society,  and  will  add  not  a  little  to  the 
deserved  reputation  already  enjoyed  by  Miss  Bell. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION' 


The  Mate  of  the  Good  Ship  York.   By  w 

CLARK  RUSSELL,  author  of  "  The  Wreck  of  the  Groavenor," 

etc.,  with  a  frontispiece  from  a  drawing  by  W.  H.  Dunton. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top     .....     $1.50 

W.  Clark  Russell,  past  master  in  his  own  province,  is  almost 

the  last  of  the  great  sea  romancers.     This,  his  latest  novel,  is 

a  story  filled  with  the  savor  of  the  sea  and  the  venturesome 

spirit  of  the  old  hardy  merchant  service.     The  story  has  all 

the  vigor  and  interest  that  we  are  wont  to  look  for  in  Mr. 

Russell's  sea  novels,  and  will  be  eagerly  welcomed  by  his  wide 

circle  of  admirers. 

Asa  Holmes  or  At  the  Cross-roads.    B> 

ANNIE  FELLOWS-JOHNSTON,  author  of  "  The  Little  Colo- 
nel's Holidays,"  etc.,  with  a  frontispiece  from  a  drawing 
by  Ernest  Fosbery. 

Large  i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $1.00 

The  many  readers  of  Mrs.  Johnston's  charming  stories  will 
look  forward  with  pleasure  to  her  latest  book.  "  Asa  Holmes  " 
is  a  sketch  of  country  life  and  country  humor,  done  with  the 
simplicity  and  grace  which  mark  all  of  Mrs.  Johnston's  work, 
and  touched  with  the  sunny  wisdom  of  the  cheery  old  Cross- 
roads philosopher,  Asa  Holmes. 

The  Cloistering  Of  Ursula.  By  CLINTON  SCOL- 
LARD,  author  of  "A  Man-at-Arms,"  etc.  Illustrated  by 
H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $1.50 

It  is  with  much  pleasure  that  the  publishers  are  able  to  an- 
nounce another  of  Mr.  Scollard's  delightful  Italian  romances. 
Italy  in  the  heyday  of  all  her  splendid  sins  and  terrible  virtues 
is  a  fascinating  field  for  any  romancer,  and  it  is  a  fascinating 
romance  which  is  here  unfolded  —  a  story  of  deadly  feud  and 
secret  craft,  open  hatred  and  hidden  love.  A  strange  cloister- 
ing is  that  of  the  charming  Ursula,  whose  adventures  the  reader 
follows  with  breathless  interest  from  the  time  when,  all  unwit- 
ting, she  aids  the  enemy  of  her  house  to  escape  from  the  fatal 
banquet,  to  the  time  when  she  finds  her  claustral  refuge  in  the 
heart  of  that  enemy. 


L.    C.  PAGE  AND   COMPANY'S 


The   Seigneur   de   Beaufoy.    By  HAMILTON 

DRUMMOND,  author  of  "  The  King's  Pawn,"  etc. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.50 
These  adventures  of  the  proud  and  powerful  Seigneur  de 
Beaufoy  throw  a  striking  side  light  on  the  political  and  social 
condition  of  France  during  the  time  of  Charles  VII.  and  his 
crafty  son,  Louis  XI.  How  Beaufoy  ruled  his  wide  domains, 
warred  with  his  neighbors,  succored  the  weak  and  humbled 
the  powerful,  opposed  priest  and  abbot,  made  terms  with 
dauphin  and  king,  —  all  this  is  set  forth  with  a  purity  of  style 
and  a  dramatic  force  that  stamp  Mr.  Drummond  as  one  of  the 
leading  romancers  of  the  day. 

The   Last  \Vord.     By  ALICE  MACGOWAN.    Library 
rzmo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated    ....     $1.50 
This  brilliant  and  original  novel  is  one  of  the  notable  addi- 
tions to  the  fiction  list  of  the  year,  in  respect  both  of  literary 
quality  and  of  popular  appeal.     It  is  bubbling  over  with  life 
and  humor,  buoyant  with  youth  and  courage,  picturesque  in 
local  color,    and  powerful    in  the   intensity   of   its  emotional 
interest. 

The  Prince  of  the  Captivity.   By  SYDNEY  c. 

GRIER,  author  of   "The   Warden  of   the    Marches,"  "A 

Crowned  Queen,"  etc. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top     .....     $1.50 

Mr.  Grier's  latest  novel,  like  several  of  its  predecessors,  is 
concerned  with  the  interesting  field  of  political  intrigue  in  the 
Balkan  states.  The  remarkable  success  which  Mr.  Grier's 
novels  have  enjoyed  in  England  makes  certain  the  favorable 
reception  on  this  side  of  the  water  of  his  latest  work. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


PAGE'S  COMMONWEALTH  SERIES 

Literary  growth  in  America  has  been  of  late  years  as  rapid 
as  its  material  and  economical  progress.  The  vast  size  of  the 
country,  the  climatic  and  moral  conditions  of  its  different  parts, 
and  the  separate  political  and  social  elements,  have  all  tended 
to  create  distinct  methods  of  literary  expression  in  various  sec- 
tions. In  offering  from  time  to  time  the  books  in  the  "  COM- 
MONWEALTH SERIES,"  we  shall  select  a  novel  or  story 
descriptive  of  the  methods  of  thought  and  life  of  that  particu- 
lar section  of  the  country  which  each  author  represents.  The 
elegance  of  paper,  press-work,  and  binding,  and  the  lavish  and 
artistic  illustrations,  as  well  as  the  convenient  size,  add  not  a 
little  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  volumes. 

Number  5.  (Illinois)  The  Russells  in  Chi- 
cago. By  EMILY  WHEATON.  Illustrated  with  full-page 
drawings  by  F.  C.  Ransom,  and  numerous  reproductions 
from  original  photographs. 

Cloth,  large  1 6m o,  gilt  top $1.25 

This  entertaining  story  is  the  narrative  of  the  experiences  of 
two  young  people  from  Boston  who  take  up  their  residence  in 
the  wilds  by  Lake  Michigan.  The  characteristics  of  life  in  the 
great  Western  metropolis,  as  well  as  the  foibles  of  the  impec- 
cable Eastern  critic,  are  touched  with  a  gentle  and  amusing 
satire,  as  kindly  as  it  is  observant  and  keen. 

Even  without  the  omen  of  success  afforded  in  the  previous 
numbers  of  this  popular  series,  it  is  safe  to  predict  a  most 
favorable  reception  for  this  charming  story. 

Number  6.  (New  York)  Councils  of  Croesus. 

By  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER,  author  of  "  Love  in  Art,"  etc. 
Cloth,  large  1 6mo,  gilt  top,  illustrated       .         .         .     $1.25 
A  clever  and  vivacious  story  of  life  in  New  York  society 
circles. 


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